


Thlipsis

by AislingSiobhan



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Ian Rider/Alex Rider, Incest, M/M, Nile/Alex Rider - Freeform, No Nile Stop It, Slash, Torture, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:18:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4766381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AislingSiobhan/pseuds/AislingSiobhan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kidnapped by Yassen and raised by Scorpia, Alex Rider is the world’s youngest assassin. When a mission takes an unexpected turn, MI6 sends Ian Rider to bring him home. Alex would rather die than work for the people who he thinks killed his father, but the choice is about to be taken out of Alex’s hands. It’s kill or be killed, and the time to choose has run out. (Originally posted: 2010)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kennahijja (Hijja)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hijja/gifts).



> So this is from the 2010 Spyfest over at LJ. I haven't looked at it in years, so I have probably missed a load of tags. Keep that in mind. I started crossposting fics from FFNet to AO3 a while ago, and then gave up because of reasons. But I figured I might as well add this one, to tide over anyone who is interested, while I finish off my Frostiron Bang fiction.  
> After my holiday this month (and starting a new job in October, hopefully) I should have enough of a routine to go along with all of my sudden excess of free time - and shall start updating stuff again. Yay!

Title: Thlipsis: Greek, meaning “pressure or oppression”.  
My translations suck.

** Thlipsis **

**Summary:** [YG/AR] Kidnapped by Yassen and raised by Scorpia, Alex Rider is the world’s youngest assassin. When a mission takes an unexpected turn, MI6 sends Ian Rider to bring him home. Alex would rather die than work for the people who he thinks killed his father, but the choice is about to be taken out of Alex’s hands. It’s kill or be killed, and the time to choose has run out. AU.  
**Warnings:** Slash. Underage. Dub-Con. Torture. Angst. Character Death. YG/AR. AU. Language. Incest. Attempted Non-Con (not Y/A).  
**Rating:** NC-17.  
**Title:** Thlipsis.  
**Word Count:** 21,368

* * * 

**Words:** 9,011  
**Chapter 1/2**  
March 1988. 

Yassen watched them. 

With his car half-hidden in a shadowed alleyway and confident that they could not see him, he watched the three men through tinted windows. Two of them worked for MI6: the Special Intelligence Service. They might be a problem. The other one was a young woman and she was the one carrying the young child. The child of course would be no trouble, and Yassen hadn’t even included him in the count. 

Alex Rider was just over a year old. He had been a month old when his father, John, was murdered, and it had taken Yassen an entire year since then to find the boy. After John’s death, Yassen had presumed the man’s wife would take care of Alex. He had never personally met Helen, but John spoke well of her and had loved her fiercely. However, it wasn’t Helen holding Alex. John had shown Yassen his wedding photos once, a few months before his death, and Yassen would have recognized the wife of John Rider anywhere. Yassen doubted she would be the type of person to abandon her son. Perhaps she was also dead? 

The blond man gave a soft chuckle. He wouldn’t put it past those agents outside to kill an innocent woman to achieve what they wanted. They had murdered John in cold blood, hadn’t they? Why should his wife have been spared? And now the child would be dragged into their mess. But Yassen wouldn’t let that happen. When Julia Rothman had finally confided in him about Alex’s whereabouts, Yassen had initially only wanted to check on the boy. Alex was apparently living with his uncle Ian. One would assume that a blood relative would take good care of his brother’s son. Ignoring the difficult relationship that had existed between John and his brother, MI6 must have felt Ian was the best choice as Alex’s guardian. 

Now, Yassen knew better. 

Anyone would have been a better choice than Ian Rider. 

The nanny and the two MI6 operatives had been knocking on Ian Rider’s front door for the past hour, shivering in the wind that was blowing in over the river. It was still Spring, and the mornings were chilly with the barest threat of frost in the air. Alex had been crying from the cold for the past ten minutes, and yet neither of the agents had thought to send the nanny and Alex to wait in their car. 

Yassen was exceptionally good at lip-reading. His blue eyes narrowed as he caught what one of the men had said. “Agent Rider must not be back from Hong Kong yet. Where shall we leave the child?” 

“Mr. Blunt said the spare key was under the flower pot. You’ll stay with him, won’t you?” The other man asked the dark-haired nanny, reaching down to lift the potted plant. He pulled out the key, but Yassen didn’t wait for him to insert it into the lock. Instead, he raised his gun, lowered the tinted window just enough for the nozzle to poke through, and fired. Were these men actually planning to leave the child without even waiting for Ian Rider? Were they really that disrespectful? 

Yassen gritted his teeth. One of his first memories of childhood was of his father explaining the importance of respect to him. Respect for others and for himself; he had lost much of his self-respect as an adolescent trying to survive in a grown-up’s world. But he would always respect John Rider and what the man had meant to him. If MI6 couldn’t respect the son of his hero then they didn’t deserve to know the child. 

Alex was coming home with him. 

He shot again, and the second man fell. The woman was screaming, one arm tight around Alex’s wiggling body and the other hand scrabbling to fit the key into the lock. She shoved open the door, but before she could run inside, Yassen was right behind her, moving with the grace and agility of a dancer. 

“Do not turn around, or I will kill you. Give me the child,” he whispered into the woman’s ear. There wasn’t even a trace of an accent in his voice, no subtle clue to hint where he came from, no way of identifying him by sound. 

The woman was sobbing, one hand pressed against the doorframe and the other holding Alex like he was her lifeline. “Please?” she breathed, not sure exactly what she was begging for. 

“Give me Alex. I won’t hurt him. I promise,” the assassin said softly. The hand holding the gun was steady, and he pressed it firmly to the base of her spine. “I will shoot you, and take Alex from you before you even have time to drop him, I promise. Give me the child and there will be no need for me to kill you.” 

She was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, arms and legs trembling. Keeping her eyes squeezed shut, she turned her face slightly towards him. As she leant down to place the toddler on the ground, Yassen noted the tears that wetted her cheeks. Alex sat on his bum, staring up at Yassen with trusting brown eyes and a soft smile, as he raised his hands and said: “Up!” 

“Go into the house,” Yassen told her, prodding her again with the gun. “Close the door behind you, and wait for Ian Rider to come home.” He smirked to himself. “If the police do not turn up first.” 

“W-What should I s-say?” she stuttered, and she bit her bottom lip, waiting for Yassen to answer her. 

Yassen thought about John’s death. About how disgusted he had been with himself for allowing John to be captured in the first place; how his own mistake and actions were what had ultimately led to him watching as John was shot in the back. Yassen had felt physically sick, watching John gasping as he toppled forwards, blood blossoming across his chest like a rose. Bile had risen in Yassen’s throat; the taste of it in his mouth had been revolting. 

Later, he had seen Tulip Jones on camera, speaking into a microphone, ordering John’s death. And Ian Rider, his own brother, had been the one to pull the trigger! 

The knowledge had given birth in Yassen to a hatred so strong that even after a year his heart still pounded furiously at the thought of those two people. Yassen had followed his orders; he had carried out his revenge on Mrs. Jones, had targeted her husband and children and had killed them, but he had never been allowed to take revenge on Ian. Every mission that Scorpia believed Rider to be involved with had been denied to Yassen. They had expressly forbidden him from having any contact with Ian. The year before, Scorpia had ordered him not to kill Ian Rider, and those orders still stood. Yassen couldn’t wait around for Ian, but he wasn’t going to leave Alex to be raised by the people who had gunned his father down in cold blood either. 

Alex would know about his father. Yassen would teach him, and Alex would know about those who had betrayed them, who had destroyed what had been precious to Yassen. One day Alex would be the one to have his revenge. 

But until then— 

“Tell them, Scorpia never forgets.” 

He shoved the woman forward, closing the door behind her. He was certain she hadn’t seen his face, completely certain, or else he would not have let her live regardless of whether he wanted the message delivered or not. 

His own safety was paramount. A message could be delivered in any number of ways, but his identity was important to him. Yassen prided himself on being unassuming. He was handsome, but he didn’t deliberately draw attention to himself. His face was smooth and pleasing, with chiselled lips and with slightly feminine eyelashes. He kept his hair closely cropped at his natural shade of blond. He didn’t wear make up or gel, and while he wore expensive clothes, he preferred them to be in neutral or dark shades. There was always something suspicious about men who wore Hawaiian print shirts at a British airport, after all. 

No one would look at Yassen twice and think, _assassin_. He looked like every other ordinary businessman to stroll through Stanstead, Treviso Airport, or JFK. He spoke with no accent, unless he was very angry in which case a trace of his Russian origins seeped through. Yassen rather enjoyed being unmemorable. It helped him survive. 

MI6 would inevitably know it was him who had taken Alex. Cameras would capture his face as he carried Alex through the airport and boarded the first available flight to Venice but there would be no human around to recognize him and call for help. It would not be hard to steal Alex away from his home. 

Yassen reached down and gently gathered Alex into his arms. “Come, child,” he whispered, one hand running over Alex’s soft, fair hair. “It is time to take you home.” 

There was no child seat in Yassen’s car, but there wasn’t one in the agents' car either. The nanny must have carried him on her lap, Yassen mused, as he buckled himself into the driver’s seat. Yassen frowned over at Alex, watching the child lying flat on the passenger seat. There was no time to waste and Yassen drove to the nearest train station with Alex belted on to his own lap. From there, he held Alex against his chest as the train took them away from Victoria Station. One Yassen was far enough away, he changed lines. He needed to get to the furthest airport away from Chelsea. If Ian Rider came home soon, or if MI6 had been watching, they would undoubtedly search for Yassen at the nearest airport. Going further away from Chelsea before booking a flight would give him a little more extra time.2 

Once they boarded the plane, and the airhostess had offered him one of those tiny yellow seatbelts for babies, he belted Alex to his own lap again. Then the Russian allowed himself to relax. They were leaving Britain. In two hour’s time they would arrive in Venice, and from there it would only be a short boat ride until they were home. 

It had not been long since Yassen was last at Malagosto, but he had already started to miss it. Just as he himself did, Yassen knew Alex would love it there. 

_XXX_

February 19th 2001. 1 

Sayle Enterprises was an interesting enough place, Alex supposed, if one were into technology and computers. The buildings were tall and impressive, and the floors shiny and always clean. The people hurried about in white lab coats and biohazard suits with lowered, submissive gazes, and the curious looks they shot at him made Alex grin and bare his teeth. Alex Rider wasn’t too interested in what Sayle Enterprises looked like. Or of what its staff thought of him. 

Alex had a job to do. If he did his job well, he would be paid well, and that was all that mattered to him. 

Not to mention that the sooner the job was complete, the sooner he could go back to Malagosto and see Yassen again. 

“Ah, Mr. Rider,” Herod Sayle drawled, linking his fingers together beneath his chin. “What a coincidence.” 

Alex waited for him to speak again, but his employer remained silent. Sayle was dark-skinned and beady-eyed. Originally from Beirut, and adopted by American tourists after he had saved them from being crushed to death, Sayle had somehow ended up in a British school with the current Prime Minister of Great Britain. Apparently, Sayle could hold a grudge with the best of them. His plan was clever, in its own way, and undoubtedly cruel, and Julia Rothman loved it. 

Alex wasn’t so sure. 

Yassen hadn’t been concerned by the thought of working for a man who wanted to kill all of the children in Britain with one push of a button. But when he had been informed that _Alex_ would be going to Cornwall, the Russian had suddenly begun to feel uneasy. 

“What is a coincidence?” Alex forced himself to ask, knowing he would not be able to leave this ‘meeting’ until Sayle had finished making himself feel important. Alex kept his voice cold and his face expressionless, showing neither pleasure nor disgust.  
He did not like Sayle. Sayle did not like Alex either. Unfortunately, Yassen’s injury was taking longer to heal than had been expected and Scorpia had been left with no choice but to send Yassen’s partner as his replacement. 

Herod did not like schoolchildren, especially schoolboys, which was a pity because Alex was only fourteen. Not to mention that some geek kid would be arriving in just over a month because he had won a magazine competition, so Herod would be stuck with two teenage boys, and miles to go before he could cripple the country. 

Alex felt a smile tugging at the edges of his lips, but he fought it back. Now was not the time to give in to his baser emotions. Now was the time to work, and sometimes ‘work’ meant sucking up to your employer. Though in this instance ‘work’ was less sucking up, and more trying not to outright laugh at him. 

Alex was tempted to repeat his question, but he didn’t. He knew Herod was waiting for Alex to enquire, to show curiosity and interest and something else which Sayle probably thought of as infantile. So Alex waited too. He was being paid to be there, Sayle was not, and as such Alex had all the time in the world. Or more accurately, he had all the time Herod Sayle could afford. 

“There is a new security guard starting work this week. His surname is also Rider.” Herod said, a sugary smile on his lips. His eyebrows were narrowed together as he waited for Alex to startle in recognition or surprise. But Alex remained blank-faced, expressionless and unconcerned. Herod spoke again, his voice low and husky, as if Alex’s lack of facial expressions were arousing. “Ian Rider,” he continued.

Alex reacted then. A grin broke out across Sayle’s face, but he said nothing as Alex’s eyes widened and then narrowed just as suddenly. The teenager took a small step back, fighting with himself to keep his feet from running out of the room to track Ian Rider down and _hurt_ him. 

“Yes,” Alex whispered once he was back under control. “Quite the coincidence.” 

He considered telling Yassen, but Yassen would only tell Scorpia, who would then pull him from the mission. That would make his assignment a failure, and so far Alex had a straight record of success after success after success. He would not let Ian destroy this for him, like he had destroyed his family! Alex would keep the information to himself, wait and watch and stay wary until he knew what Rider was doing there and how much the man knew. 

MI6 didn’t know about him, Alex was sure of that. Scorpia had been very careful to mask the identity of the world’s youngest teenage assassin. If Ian got even an inkling, the vaguest notion that Alex and Cub (Cossack’s partner) were one and the same, then, orders or no orders, he would have to die. Alex would deal with Julia Rothman, and Yassen, and his punishment afterwards. His security was more important than the ‘no kill’ order about Ian Rider, after all. The number one rule Yassen had taught him, having learnt from his experiences with John in Malta, was **don’t get caught**! 

 

Without waiting to be excused, Alex turned sharply on his heels and walked from the room. His footsteps were silent. He passed through the hallways as barely more than a shadow, and those who did notice him gave no indication of such, deterred by the scowl that marred the child’s normally handsome features. 

Alex had a lot to think about. He entered his room, closing and locking the door, before lying back on his bed and shutting his eyes. But he did not sleep. Yassen had always said the night was too valuable to be wasted in sleep, and so Alex had trained and tried and _succeeded_ in needing only four hours of sleep a night. 

Instead, Alex thought. 

_XXX_

March 12th 2001. 

There was something strange going on at Sayle Enterprises. Besides the obvious, that was. Ian may have been pretending to be a security guard, but he wasn’t going to pretend to be stupid as well. Normal computer game developers, software developers and technologists didn’t have radiation protocols or suspicious convoys of trucks filled with armed men patrolling the Cornwall coast every night. 

Ian knew what all of that was about now. It had taken the best part of three weeks, but he had done his job well. He was ready to return to Liverpool Street and accept his pat on the back from Mr. Blunt. 

Except… 

Except that there was something else that was strange about Sayle Enterprises, and Ian wasn’t talking about Herod’s dress sense. Ian had watched , hidden uncomfortably in the air conditioning vents that ran the length of the biochemical lab’s ceiling, and he had seen the scientists and the hired mercenaries doing their jobs. The scientists had been injecting the genetically modified smallpox virus into little test tubes, while the guards waved their guns threateningly at them. And then it had happened. One of the scientists had dropped a test tube. The other scientists had screamed. The guards panicked, stumbling backwards until they were pressed against the walls. But the vial had only bounced once and rolled. There was no crack in the tube. No more screaming. 

There was just silence, and there he'd been. 

A teenager, fair-haired and nicely built, had entered the lab through the secret door that Ian had spent hours and hours trying to open from the outside. He'd stood silently, his arms held behind his back and there was a soft, soft smile on his pleasant face. 

“What did you do?” he had asked in a calm voice, his hands slowly moving until they hung limply by his sides. 

The scientist had trembled. He'd bent slowly to collect the undamaged test tube and placed it gently back in its designated holder. “It won’t happen again, Mr. R-”. He'd stopped speaking suddenly, his mouth widening into an ‘O’ of surprise just as the crack of gunfire echoed through the underground room. 

No one had dared make a sound as the perpetrator had fallen to his knees, and then his side, and lay still. Ian had watched as the child’s brown eyes, calculated and cold, traced over every shadow inside the room, searching for something. But he had obviously not found it, because the boy had then sighed deeply, and said, “No. It won’t.” 

Just as silently as he had entered the room, he'd left it. And Ian had watched him go, knowing he couldn’t leave Port Tallon until he knew for sure that the boy was _not_ who he thought he was. 

The day after, Ian had packed his bag and secured all of the information he had gathered on behalf of MI6. It had been relatively easy to steal a set of keys for one of the quad bikes that the guards used to patrol the grounds. 

He had talked himself into leaving during the night since he had glimpsed the fair-haired child. It was the right thing to do. Ian needed to return home, check on his house and his housekeeper, hand over his information and be debriefed. And then he would lock himself away in his office and pore over family albums: filled with photographs of him and John, John and Helen, and Alex, they were an endless source of self-loathing for him. There were two special photos framed on his desk. They were the reminders of why he did his job as readily as he did and why he fought so hard to destroy anything that Scorpia hadn’t already ruined with their poisonous touch. 

One was of an airplane after it had been blown up. Ian had cut it out of the paper, with the headline ‘ **Disgraced Soldier dies in explosion** ’ underneath it. The other was a smaller picture. It was one Ian had taken himself as a reminder of why he hated Scorpia as much as he did. It was Alex’s body after MI6 had finally retrieved it. Or what was left of it.

The memory of those pictures, of his own personal photo-ritual, was all that kept him from hunting down the teenager and demanding to know who he was. Alex Rider was dead. He had to be ...

Ian wasn’t about to put himself through any unnecessary torture when he knew he would only be disappointed in the end. 

Alex was gone. 

Yassen Gregorovich had made sure of that. 

Ian fished the quad bike keys out of his pocket, palming them between his hands as he made his way out into the open ground between the buildings. He froze suddenly, holding his breath as two people walked by. The child followed them. With his hands in his trouser pockets and headphones over his ears, he acted just like every other teenager, but Ian had seen first-hand that the child wasn’t normal. 

“Mr. Rider?” Nadia Vole said. Alex didn’t hear her; her voice was drowned out by his music. 

“Hmm!” Mr. Grin grunted, waving his hands in Nadia’s direction. 

She sighed and stopped walking. Alex stopped too, but did not remove his earphones. “Mr. Rider, really, can you please try to be more professional?” 

Ian couldn’t think straight. Blood pounded through his ears, painfully loud. Rider was a common enough surname. In fact, he and John had gone to school with two others, a boy and a girl, who all shared the same last name. It didn’t necessarily mean anything.  
“Alex!” The blond haired woman hissed. 

“It’s less a matter of professionalism and more a general dislike of your voice,” Alex informed her snidely. “I heard Herod as well as you did. There is no need for you to repeat his orders. Everything will be fine,” he said, before he turned and walked away. Shocked and mortified, it took Nadia a moment to realize that Mr. Grin was still following Alex and that she had been left on her own. She ran to catch up with them. Once they were out of sight, Ian stepped out of his shadowed hiding place. 

Alex Rider. The boy’s name was Alex Rider. 

It was too much of a coincidence. Having the same surname was one thing, but sharing the same Christian name as well was too much. Ian felt like laughing, he felt like falling to his knees and praying, and he felt like screaming. Alan Blunt had told him Alex was dead. Mrs. Jones had helped to bury his nephew’s body a month after they had buried his brother’s. When Alex had turned to insult Nadia Vole, it had been John Rider standing before him. Younger, and with Helen’s cheekbones, but Ian had been looking at his brother. 

His nephew had been right there, close enough to touch. The urge to take him home and keep him protected was so strong it almost felt like his heart was tied to a string that was held within Alex’s hand. As Alex walked away from him, he felt he was being pulled to follow. 

But no… he had to go. He had to go now. Sayle was onto him, and if Ian didn’t leave now, there was a strong possibility that he wouldn’t be leaving alive. 

He knew where Alex was, and more importantly, he knew Alex was alive. Ian would come back for him. 

He smirked to himself as he mounted the nearest quad bike and turned it on. 

He’d come back, all right, with back up. Scorpia would be so sorry that they fucked with his family. 

_XXX_

March 29th 2001. 

Alan Blunt rested his head on his palm. His elbow ached from digging into his desk, but he didn’t shift positions. Instead he pushed the pain from his thoughts and focused on the young boy in front of him. 

“Mr. Lester, hello,” he greeted as warmly as was possible for someone like him. 

He may have considered himself one of the good guys, but he was far from the hugs-and-puppies type. He was cold and unfeeling at times, but most importantly he did what was _necessary_. When Alex Rider had been kidnapped, every one had assumed the worst. Mr. Blunt and Mrs. Jones however knew there were fates worse than death, and if Alex had really been dead it might have been a blessing for the child. They had watched the surveillance footage of Yassen carrying Alex through Gatwick Airport together.2 

Simultaneously, they had turned to one another and whispered, “John.” 

Yassen Gregorovich would no more hurt Alex than Ian would have; they both knew that. But when Ian refused to take assignment after assignment, choosing instead to waste his time hunting for a child who would most likely never be found, Alan had been forced to take _necessary_ actions to ensure that Ian Rider could move on from his nephew’s death. 

Agent Rider was refusing to speak to them at the current time, but Mr. Blunt had other things to focus his attention on anyway. Beside him, Mrs. Jones popped a mint into her mouth and smiled widely at the teenager seated across from them. 

“Hello Felix,” she said, reaching out to shake his offered hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Congratulations on winning the competition. You must be so excited.” 

“I’m looking forward to playing with the Stormbreaker, yes,” he told them. He looked a little bit like Alex, except his hair was a shade of mousy brown, and he kept pushing old-fashioned glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger. 

“I know that this is supposed to be an exciting adventure for you; a holiday, if you will,” Mrs. Jones said, deciding that the boy would be most likely to listen to her. “But could you do us a small favour?” She didn’t wait for Felix to reply. She pushed a photograph of Yassen across the table separating them and pointed at the Russian’s face. “If you see this man, will you call us immediately?” 

“Here is a phone. Hold down the number one and it will dial this office immediately. It will be impossible to connect with any other number from this device.” Alan slid the phone across the table. Mr. Blunt frowned at the teenager, wondering what the situation would have been like had Alex been sitting in that chair instead, Ian hovering over his shoulder like a proud parent. Alan brought himself back into the conversation. “My nephew is there on work experience for a security company. You’ll probably meet him; he might even be the one to show you around. His name is Alex, by the way. Jolly good chap, clever, friendly, and good at snooker. I dare say you’ll like him. That fellow, however,” Alan said, trailing off with a very real frown. 

“His name is Yassen Gregorovich.” Mrs. Jones was also frowning. 

“What’s so important about him?” Felix Lester asked, a curious half-smile on his lips. “He looks harmless enough.” Brown eyes darted between the faces of two adults in the room. They both scowled at him. 

“Yassen Gregorovich may look to be in his mid to late 20s, but he is in actual fact 35 years old. My nephew,” Alan had no problem lying about his relationship with Alex, but every time he used the word ‘nephew’ he considered whether he should have let Ian deal with this, as the man had wanted to. “Alex is only fourteen. We have reason to believe that Gregorovich has instigated a relationship of a sexual nature with Alex. Alex’s other uncle and myself have tried to warn the man off, but he refuses to listen. Alex doesn’t really want the police involved, as he insists he ‘loves’ the man. It would be best not to mention anything like this around my nephew.” 

Tulip Jones gave a soft smile. “We’re just trying to do what is best for the boy. His father was a great friend of mine, before his death. None of us wants to see Alex hurt by a relationship of this kind.” 

 

“Ok,” Felix agreed, clearly feeling the need to protect someone his age, even if he had never met him, from falling victim to a sexual predator. “I’ll keep an eye on him. If I see this guy around,” he pointed at the photo again, “I’ll give you a call.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Lester. Have a good time.” Alan waved his hand at the door, and Mrs. Jones stood from her chair. 

“I’ll show you out,” she said, and took hold of his arm. 

Alan watched them go. He knew there was a good chance that the boy would get hurt or even die, but he was just one child. Compared to the hundreds of thousands that would die if the Stormbreakers were released into the public, Felix Lester’s life wasn’t all that important. Sacrifices had to be made. Every agent knew that. It was one of those necessary evils in life, and Mr. Blunt was very, very good at doing what was _necessary_! It was a pity the Prime Minister wouldn’t let them move on Sayle Enterprises without a sample of the virus, and it was a shame that Ian had not managed to procure one. But if Lester died, Alan Blunt would get what he wanted anyway: the end of Herod Sayle. 

_XXX_

March 31st 2001. 

It was 2am. It was Alex’s last day in Port Tallon. 

It would also be the first day since Felix Lester arrived that he would be completely alone. For some reason, probably due to their close ages, the other boy had demanded that Alex be the one to guide him around Sayle Enterprises. Once Herod Sayle had agreed, what was there for Alex to do about it? He couldn’t very well just abandon the boy as he played the Stormbreaker. What if he got bored and went exploring? 

Undoubtedly, Sayle would blame Alex. They hated each other. No, that was a lie. Sayle hated him, and Alex was merely disgusted by the older man. There was a difference. 

The last 40 containers of the virus were coming in.. Once these last few had been safely transported to the biochemical lab Alex’s assignment would be complete. 

It was a shame that MI6 had not moved on Sayle Enterprises.3 All of those children would die, but Alex wouldn’t be one of them. Yassen would be thankful for that at least. There were no computer games on Malagosto. If Alex had wanted to play ‘Halo’ or ‘Call of Duty’ as a child, he had been sent out with a team of training assassins and a real gun. He had been shot once, and it had hurt like hell, but it had been a good learning experience. 

Alex’s lips twitched into a smile at the memory. 

The guards, all dressed in black, stood silently in a straight line behind him. Their convoy of trucks rumbled softly in the dark, the noise drowning out the lapping of the water on the shore. Alex took a few steps forward, the tops of his shoes barely getting wet. Nadia Vole made her way down to the end of the jetty, where a man was climbing out of the Chinese Hans Class 404 SSN that had just surfaced. Alex watched wistfully as the other man stretched, wishing that it had been Yassen who was sent to join him for their final day. 

Alex made his way back up the incline from the sea to where the other men waited. Once he had reached the front of the queue, Ernesto Alvisio handed him the first metal container, and Alex turned to hand it to the person behind him. They continued for an hour, passing container after container down along the line of human hands and into the waiting trucks. 

“How is Yassen?” Alex asked as they made their way back up the jetty. 

Ernesto shrugged. “He is well, I suppose. The bullet wound is healing nicely, but Mr. D’Arc thinks it would be best for him to remain at home for the next month or two.” 

Alex gave a soft smile. “I suppose you’ll be taking on his assignments then?” 

“Oliver did mention that, yes,” he said softly, blushing. Oliver D’Arc was the head principal of the assassin training school on Malagosto. Consequentially he had been the one to clear Alex for full duty when the boy was thirteen years old. Ernesto Alvisio, however, was twenty-four and while having been recruited almost a year ago he was only being sent on his first mission now  
“Good luck with that. You’ll need a partner for some of the things they send Yassen and me into.” They walked alongside the trucks, looking inside and checking the containers. He gave the signal, waving his hand twice, and the guards picked up their guns and climbed back into their respective trucks. 

“I was under the impression that taking on Mr. Gregorovich’s assignments meant I would be adopting his partner for the time being too?” It was said in a teasing manner, his voice lightly accented by his native Italian, but Alex didn’t like the gleam in the man’s hazel eyes. 

“I’d much prefer to stay home and kiss Yassen better. Thanks though.” Alex ignored the look the elder man gave him, and added flippantly, “and anyway, I don’t deal well with other partners. Tried that once. He died." 

Ernesto followed silently as Alex led them to the last truck. The others had already begun to drive away. Their driver was waiting by the door, frowning. “Boss,” he whispered, “there’s something you might want to see.” 

Alex frowned. Without a word he followed his driver around to the back of the truck and lifted up the tarp that covered its cargo area. Crouching in the corner was Felix Lester and he stared up at Alex with wide, terrified brown eyes. He was pale faced and crying, and Alex was completely unmoved by the sight. Just because Yassen chose not to kill children in cold blood, Alex had no such concern.

No matter how old a person was, once you put a bullet in them they were just one more dead body. Alex had seen plenty of those. They no longer bothered him, and he didn’t sleep long enough to have nightmares anyway. 

He pointed the gun at Lester’s face, his expression blank. He had to clench his bottom jaw to stop his hand from shaking. While he had no problem killing, it was part of his job after all, he really didn’t see the need to excessively waste life. But the boy had seen too much. Scorpia would not be pleased with Alex if the boy was allowed to continue living. Alex’s eyes narrowed and he swallowed. He would not take the blame for some child’s nosiness. 

“I will say I am sorry if that would make you feel better?” Felix just shook his head, crying harder. His mouth moved, probably to beg for mercy, but the words weren’t coming out, and Alex didn’t really want to hear them anyway. Begging made death that much more undignified. Alex was determined to die with dignity, so he didn’t see why everyone else simply threw theirs away. 

He pulled the trigger. Half of Felix’s head blew off. Blood splashed across the inside of the truck and onto Alex’s face. Rider wiped at his eyes and licked his lips, then tucked his gun away. 

“Leave the body out on the beach.” When Lester didn’t return home tomorrow, someone would report him missing. 

 

Alex climbed into the passenger seat of the truck and slid towards the middle. The passenger seat was wide enough for two men, so Ernesto sat beside him. When their driver returned from dumping the body he started the car in silence, shooting Alex wary but half-awed glances, and drove them back to Sayle Enterprises. 

_XXX_

April 1st 2001. 

Today was the day the Stormbreakers were due to be unveiled at the Science Museum. The Prime Minister himself would be the one to bring the computers online and kill every school child in the country. 

Alex flicked through the TV channels before he settled on the news. 

The Channel 4 crew were there, their cameras framing Herod’s face as he was dragged from the Museum by three armed police officers. MI6 agents stood around the room, strategically placed to minimise any harm that Sayle might have caused to civilians once he realised his plans were ruined, and very careful to keep out of range of the cameras. Sayle man had shot the Prime Minister, before trying to activate the computers himself, but Ian Rider of all people had shot him in the hand. 

Alex felt his blood boil as he watched the man standing beside Mrs. Jones. Those two people had killed his father, and the anger that still lived inside of him was overwhelming when he thought about the two MI6 employees. 

Alex changed the channel. He couldn’t bear to look at Jones or Ian any longer. 

He left it on some cartoon, one he was not familiar with, and he reached for the scrambled mobile phone that lay on the bed beside him. He dialled in the number from memory, and then Alex pressed the call button. 

It rang a few times before someone answered it. For just a moment there was only the sound of someone breathing, and then, “Alex?” 

“Hey Yassen.” Alex smiled, flopping back onto the mattress once he heard his lover’s voice. “I’ve missed you.” 

“As I have also.” There was something off about the Russian’s voice, but Alex couldn’t place the emotion. “When are you returning?” There was a hint of longing in his voice now. Alex smiled at the ceiling. 

The other bed in the room was empty and the shower was running, but Alex didn’t have to worry about keeping anything secret at the moment anyway. It didn’t matter if Alex’s roommate could hear what they were speaking about. “Ernesto and I are waiting until Mrs. Rothman sends someone for us. We have to be debriefed before returning to Malagosto, and since the mission failed we’re following policy and hiding out for a few days. It shouldn’t be much longer, моя любовь .4 God, I can’t wait to be home.” 

“You should wait a few days, маленький ангел,”5 Yassen whispered down the phone. Anyone who knew Yassen as well as Alex did, knew that there was something very wrong with the man. “Perhaps you will be safer where you are?” 

Alex pulled the phone away from his ear and frowned at it intently, as if the look would somehow be magically transported to Italy and to Yassen. “I don’t understand,” he said simply. 

There was a sigh, and Alex pressed the phone tightly against his ear, waiting. “They know.” 

Alex didn’t need to ask who ‘they’ were. MI6. It was the worst thing that could have happened and at the worst possible time. He was still in England and there wasn’t much chance of him escaping the country while they were looking for him. Yassen was right; it wasn’t safe to go home yet. No airport in the country would be safe for him, and short of swimming the English Channel, Alex was stuck in the country until Scorpia sent a handler to retrieve him.  
“I see.” What else could Alex say? He was sorry? “That sucks.”

Yassen snorted. “It does, doesn’t it? I will have to miss you longer I suppose.” 

“And here I was, looking forward to kissing you better.” Alex whispered, teasing. The shower stopped running, but he ignored it. Alex ignored Ernesto as he walked into the room in just a towel, dripping wet. “I really wanted to kiss you.” 

“Where?” The Russian played along. 

Alex chuckled; knowing without needing to see it that Yassen’s hand was down his trousers. In breathy whispers Alex described exactly what he planned on doing to the older man the second he was home. Alex brushed off the glares Ernesto sent him, and the jealous gazes, and he didn’t notice the eyes fixing on his groin as his own hand slipped into his trousers, lost as he was in the sound of Yassen’s panting. 

When he hung up the phone, Alex easily slipped into sleep. 

_XXX_

April 3rd 2001. 

Yassen was supposed to be resting, but he didn’t feel tired. He had never slept much anyway, even as a child. After his parents’ deaths he had been too afraid to sleep, the streets of Moscow were not the safest place to let your guard. Joining Scorpia had probably saved his life. Like all jobs it took up a lot of Yassen’s time and like his last job most of it was done at night. Night-time was valuable, he had quickly learnt, and most of his money was made during the dark hours. He didn’t have time to waste on sleep.  
Dr. Voitekh Emiliya was a good man with a very strong Bulgarian accent, a kind disposition and an unmemorable face. There was only one thing Yassen didn’t like about being in the man’s care (aside from the fact that he was injured), and that was his pronounced need to force Yassen to sleep. The need extended so far as to actually _drugging_ the assassin with sedatives if Yassen suggested leaving the medical ward. 

Dr. Emiliya was busy tending to a couple of Scorpia’s explosives technicians. He didn't notice Yassen slipping from the room. 

The Russian made his way through the familiar corridors of his home. He had houses, scattered throughout the world; some his enemies didn’t know about, some his employers didn’t know about, and one or two that no one knew about, not even Alex. Yassen didn’t stay in those houses often. He only visited occasionally when he happened to be in the area on business, just to make sure the people he paid to look after his homes were doing their job. Ever since he had first met John, he had always considered Malagosto to be his home. John Rider had made the island become somewhere Yassen had wanted to be, rather than needed to be. Whenever they were away from the island and he was with John he hadn’t missed it, but if they were ever separated it was Yassen’s biggest desire to return _home_. With Alex, he felt the same. Apparently home really was where the heart was. 

 

Malagosto was made up of a firing range and 6 buildings, surrounded by concrete courtyards and overgrown forests. It had been Scorpia’s base since its founding in the 1980s. Each of the buildings was separate from the others, each had its own function, and Yassen found that this building was his favourite place outside of Block 12. 

Block 12, as it was called, was actually the 3rd building built on the island. It was where the instructors trained future assassins, spies, and terrorists. The gym was first class and Yassen had enjoyed working out there over the years. He had especially enjoyed sparring, when Alex had been younger and easier to pin beneath him. However, it was just as fun to wrestle with Alex now as it had been then. Yassen mostly won. 

Block R was where the inhabitants on the island slept. It was the biggest building by far and the only one that Scorpia had expanded, contracting outside builders and surveyors who, once their job had been completed, had been shot one after the other and dumped into the Venetian sea. Yassen and Alex shared the same rooms. Theirs were the same as everyone else’s. A bedroom with two twin beds, which the couple had pushed together once their relationship had changed; twin bedside lockers and wardrobes; a small television sitting on a chest of drawers. There was a small en-suite, with just a toilet and a sink in it, branching off from the bedroom. Yassen had fitted his own desk against the wall beside the bathroom door. Unlike Alex, he could not plan his missions while lying face down on the bed. It was uncouth. 

There were several communal showering areas spread throughout the levels of Block R, but at least the toilets were private. All the bedrooms were shared between partners, though Yassen knew for a fact that Mr. Alvisio had put in a request to room with Alex. 

Thinking about Ernesto made Yassen’s lips curl. If it had been safe for Alex to risk taking a public flight out of England, Yassen would have told him to come as soon as possible. He did not like the idea of Alex being left alone with Ernesto; he had told Mrs. Rothman as such. She had accused him of simply being jealous, brushing off his concerns easily. In irritation Yassen had accused her of the same, back when he and John had been indivisible and Julia had been the one desperate to separate the two. 

He was about to open the door to his room when something made him pause. Something wasn’t right. Ear pressed against the thin door, Yassen listened as someone moved about inside the room. There were two people in the room. As one of them spoke, Yassen breathed out a sigh of relief. It was only Mrs. Rothman. She was probably waiting to speak to him, he thought. He was about to push open the door, pleased to know it wasn’t anyone snooping through his room, but then Nile spoke. 

“What are we going to do with Rider?” he asked, his voice smooth and cultured. 

Yassen paused, considering his options. He didn’t believe in eavesdropping because usually one only heard half of the story, but in this instance he would forgive his lack of caution. It was likely to be his only chance of knowing what Scorpia planned to do about Ian. Yassen decided to wait outside. After all, gathering intelligence was a part of what Scorpia had trained him to do. 

“We’ll have to kill him.” Mrs. Rothman answered, her voice light and bubbly. Like the champagne she was probably drinking. “He’s too much of a liability now that the truth is known.” 

“You’ve always known the truth,” Nile pointed out slowly. 

“Yes, but no one else did who mattered. They know he is alive! What if they tell him, what if they tell Yassen?” 

The Russian startled at the mention of his name. His hand that had been flat against the wall beside the doorframe clenched into a fist and then his fingers straightened out again. He took a deep breath, let it out and waited silently, patiently. 

“They won’t have a chance. We’ll kill him first,” Nile promised. 

“We will. You will.” Julia sighed, and then giggled lightly. “Oh, I have the perfect idea. I’ll have to give the boy a ring and let him know. Perhaps he will kill him?” she mused aloud, smiling widely. 

Yassen frowned, his eyebrows creasing together. He was annoyed; he would admit that much. They planned to kill Ian and leave him out of it. But they had also said ‘the boy’. There was only one boy in Scorpia, and that was Alex. If they were allowing Alex to kill Ian then Yassen could not be too angry. Alex deserved to cause the traitor’s death. John had been Alex’s father, after all, and Ian was his uncle. Perhaps it would be best to resolve the issue within the family? 

“If they don’t kill him first, Nile, make sure you do. Rider isn’t going to be a problem much longer.” 

Yassen smiled, briefly, imagining blood on Ian’s chest as the man lay dying. It was something he had dreamed of for a long time, and knowing that his death was so close made Yassen’s heart start beating faster in excitement. 

“Poor Gregorovich,” Nile said, chuckling, “he’ll need a new partner.” 

“Again.” Julia laughed as well. 

With a sickening jolt, Yassen realised they weren’t talking about Ian. They were talking about Alex! And for a second it was like his heart had stopped beating. 

_XXX_

April 4th 2001. 

When Yassen had decided to fly his private Colibri EC120B helicopter to England, the last thing he had expected was to be shot out of the sky and captured. MI6 were apparently so desperate to capture him that they had let the Army fire upon the helicopter, bringing it crashing down over a private airfield. 

The helicopter was a write-off, but Yassen had managed to survive the crash uninjured. 

“Hello Mr. Gregorovich,” the head of the Covert Action branch of the SIS greeted him coldly. “How nice to meet you face to face.” 

Yassen stared at him silently with cold, blue eyes. He was secured to the chair, the cable ties around his legs, arms, wrists, ankles and waist digging painfully into him. Ian Rider stood behind him with a gun pressed to the nape of his neck. Mrs. Jones smiled at him, sucking on a peppermint as she picked up the phone. 

“Here you go Alan,” she said kindly, handing the telephone over. 

He took it and dialled the number Jones had used to arranged the exchange on Albert Bridge with Scorpia. He waited out the ringing. 

“They won’t fall for it. Not again,” Yassen told them emotionlessly. As long as they stayed away from Alex, he didn’t care what they did to him. 

“I’ll take your advice into consideration- oh, hello!” Alan trailed off, as someone answered the phone on the other end. “This is Alan Blunt. Ah, of course you know who I am. But whom might I be speaking to? Ah, Julia! A pleasure as always, I’m sure. How have you been?” 

He spoke to her as if they were old friends. Yassen frowned, but otherwise showed no outward reaction. Mentally, though, he wondered if this was how Mr. Blunt treated everyone, enemies and friends alike. Then he wondered if Mr. Blunt even had any friends. He didn’t seem the type. 

“What can you do for me? Well, I’d say it was more a matter of what I can do for you— no, no, hear me out.” He chuckled;. Julia must have said something scathing. “I have in my possession Yassen Gregorovich. Speak to Mrs. Rothman, Yassen, she doesn’t quite believe me.” 

“I apologise,” the assassin said softly, clenching his fingers, “for causing a nuisance, madam. Please don’t go to any trouble on my account.” 

“Now, we are willing to trade Mr. Gregorovich for Alex Rider. Oh, don’t deny you have him; we know very well that you do. We also know that Alex has ceased to be useful to you. We will take him back. No questions asked about his training, zero repercussions for his kidnapping and a carte blanche promise from us to you that Alex will never be used against your organisation. You relieve yourself of a liability and in return you will receive back your best assassin. The _world’s_ best assassin! It is a good deal, don’t you agree?” 

Alan cupped his chin, resting his elbow on top of his desk, and began drumming his fingers against the flesh of his cheek. 

The room was silent for some time. Yassen didn’t want Scorpia to hand Alex over. But he had realised that Alex would actually be safer here than with Julia Rothman. Julia… who had once been so fond of Alex, and who was now planning to kill Alex. The same Julia whom he had trusted with the safety of the son of a man she had once loved, a man they had both loved. 

“Really?” Alan said, his voice raising just a pinch, expressing his surprise. He had expected to work harder for Alex, but Mrs. Rothman was all but throwing the boy at him. “Yes, the day after tomorrow will be fine. Perhaps I should let Alex know, do you have a contact- ah. No, no, right, you inform Alex. We’ll bring Yassen.” 

He turned and nodded at Mrs. Jones, who smiled widely back at him. “It was nice doing business with you.” 

When the phone was placed back in its cradle the head and the hand of MI6 frowned at each other. 

“That was too easy,” Mrs. Jones said. 

“They’ll try to trick us.” Alan clenched his teeth. 

Ian chuckled softly. “They’ll send Alex tomorrow to look around or attempt a kidnapping. They’ll try to take Gregorovich before the handover date. Even if they don’t order it, Alex will come anyway.” He sounded so sure of himself, so calm and patient and _convinced_ , and Yassen felt a snarl rising within his throat. 

“How would you know?” he hissed, the first outright show of emotion he had exhibited since he had been captured. 

“It’s what John would have done.”

Ian and Yassen stared at each other; Yassen’s head bent back at an awkward angle to meet the spy’s eyes. At the sound of his dead friend’s name Yassen flinched away. Ian looked just as uncomfortable, but at least he knew the truth. Yassen simply thought he was trapped in a room with everyone responsible for John Rider’s murder. 

And they would never tell him the truth. What if he blamed Alex, the son of a man who had betrayed him? What if he tried to hurt Alex? 

MI6 never wanted Yassen to know. 

Scorpia wanted to hide the truth from Alex. 

But hardly anyone gets what they want. The world just didn’t work like that. 

**XXX**

3 – моя любовь is Russian for “my beloved”. Let’s assume Alex learnt Russian!  
4 – маленький ангел or Mladshaya anhel is Russian for “little angel” apparently, because I couldn’t find the word “one” without the Cyrillic writing! 

* * *


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are less chapters than I thought there were... That's the old age affecting me, right there, yup...

**Words:** 12,357  
 **Chapter 2/2**   
April 4th 2001. Same day. 

Scorpia phoned Alex barely an hour later. Mrs. Rothman had first taken the time to fine tweak her plan with Nile, making the necessary changes to include Yassen’s involvement. She still had need of Yassen and had hoped to leave him out of it, but it had become apparent that his first loyalty was to the boy. Not Scorpia… not her! And that wouldn’t do at all. 

The mission statement was simple. Alex memorised it immediately as Nile read it over the phone to him. He was to wait for Nile to arrive. Another operative would escort Mr. Alvisio back to Malagosto in a private jet for debriefing. Nile would wait in their motel room, and Alex whose mission it was, would go alone and retrieve Yassen. He was apparently supposed to rescue Yassen to make up for failing the Stormbreaker mission, which he hadn’t actually failed, though his protests had been ignored. If Yassen could not be taken back he was to kill Agent Rider, or if Yassen had been injured further or killed he was to kill Agent Rider. Alex’s breath had stuttered then, and he had missed the next part of Nile’s sentence as he fought to beat down his fear. Once the mission had been completed Alex was to return to the motel and Nile would personally detail the next step of their plan. 

What Alex had missed Nile saying had actually been part of what Julia had changed to their original plan. They wanted Ian Rider dead, regardless. If Alex didn’t kill him, Alex would have failed her test. 

“The boy could be used,” Julia had mused once she hung up on Mr. Blunt. 

Nile was in her office, stroking his hand lightly over the head of the slumbering tiger. He looked up at her from where he was crouched, and frowned. He did not like Yassen, who had come first in their class, rendering Nile to second place, and he did not like Alex, who seemed to be the next best thing since John Rider had swanned around the place. He didn’t see what was so great about either of them, especially since he knew he was much better. 

“Why? What use is he?” Nile said, trying to keep the hatred from his voice. 

There had been a time when Julia had liked Alex. Certainly she hadn’t loved him, but he was a sweet baby and he looked so much like his father in infancy. As her relationship with Nile grew, he became more and more pronounced in his dislike of the boy. Every memory she had of John, Nile used and twisted, pinning Alex at the crux of all of the bad ones and tainting all of the good memories until Julia’s heart hurt to remember. She knew he was manipulating her, but it gave her the excuse she needed to take revenge. Killing John and his wife hadn’t been as sweet as she had thought it would be. Their deaths had pleased her. But they were simply dead. There had been no opportunity to hurt them, to play with them, but Nile would have that chance with Alex. He would tell her all about it, and as she imagined Alex writhing and screaming in pain, she would replace his face with John’s. She would watch his mouth move as he begged, imagine him speaking in John’s voice and telling her he loved her. 

Julia smirked to herself, hiding her mouth behind her champagne glass. 

“He is one of our best operatives,” she murmured. She wanted revenge, undoubtedly, but she had to put her personal issues on the backburner when it came to work. In terms of usefulness, Alex was at the top of the list. The only problem was whether or not he knew that _she_ had been the one to kill his father. “We’ll give him a fighting chance,” she said, grinning, “Yassen will appreciate the irony of that.” 

Nile raised an eyebrow, waiting. 

“Inform the boy that Ian Rider needs to be killed by him and no one else. Regardless of whether Yassen is successfully retrieved or not, Rider must die. I wonder if he will do it, pull the trigger on a man who looks so similar to John, to himself? I’m surprised Alex hasn’t guessed that they are related, but then again Yassen never mentioned any family aside from John, nor did we. It is a good thing that Alex has never questioned us.” She paused, sipping at her champagne with a smile. “If Alex cannot kill Rider, kill them both, Nile.” 

“Yes, Ma’am. And Gregorovich?” He tried not to look too excited as he waited for her answer. He knew what she was going to say and Nile couldn’t quite keep the grin off of his face. 

“He will not forgive us if we kill Alex. He will be of no use to Scorpia,” she said softly. A part of her regretted her next words, but she ignored the niggling doubt. This was a cutthroat business and personal issues needed to be kept aside from business concerns. Yassen had been the best student Scorpia had ever seen, and he had been a friend of hers while John was alive, and she was still fond of him even now, but business was business. If Yassen would not follow her orders, they had no need for him. “Kill him too.” 

“Yes Ma’am.” He turned to leave, a grin on his dual-coloured face. 

“Nile,” she said warningly, “only if Alex fails. If he kills Rider let him and Yassen return here alive.” 

“Yes Ma’am,” he gritted out, annoyed that she had practically read his mind. How she kept doing that he would never know, but this had been the one time when Nile had hoped to act on his desires without a rebuke and an order not to. 

When Nile appeared at the motel Alex was ready for him. 

MI6 would be waiting for them on the 6th. They were probably suspicious about Mrs. Rothman’s ready agreement, so the next two days were going to be tense. 

Alex knew better than to let his guard down, even around allies. The only person he was truly relaxed with was Yassen, and the Russian was moderately calm around him too. If Yassen weren’t always tightly strung he simply wouldn’t be himself. It was a part of the Russian that Alex had easily got used to as a child. He should never sneak up on his surrogate, wake him unexpectedly should he happen to be sleeping, or even address him by a name that was similar to ‘father’. Yassen did not like to be taken by surprise. 

“Are you ready?” Alex asked. 

Nile shook his head. “Sleep now.” The black man said, running his fingers through his close shaven hair. “You will need to be fresh for tomorrow.” 

Alex waited until Nile had fallen asleep and then he snuck out. Ernesto had left with another Scorpia employee and Nile was a heavy sleeper. There would be no one to miss Alex during the night. Alex understood that Alan Blunt wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t keep Yassen in their own headquarters, just in case the enemy knew its location. As secure as the Royal and General building probably was, if Yassen was determined enough he could escape. Mr. Blunt probably knew that. If he was this interested in Alex he probably knew all about the boy, including perhaps how far Alex was willing to go to protect his lover. He would break into the MI6 building on Liverpool Street if he had to, but he didn’t think he did. 

Alan Blunt would know better than to keep Yassen Gregorovich in the most obvious place. But the second most obvious was as good a place as any for Alex to start searching. Yassen had told him the address; Alex could only hope that Ian hadn’t moved house since Yassen had kidnapped him years ago. 

“Cheyne Walk, Chelsea,” he told the taxi driver, when the cab had come to a stop beside him. Alex climbed into the back of the taxi and in silence he watched the scenery passing by. The closer he got to Ian Rider’s house the more nervous he began to feel, but he told himself it had nothing to do with seeing Rider and everything to do with bringing Yassen home safe and sound. 

He wasn’t afraid to face his father’s killer. He wasn’t. 

_XXX_

April 5th 2001. 

Ian Rider had managed to talk his bosses into stashing Yassen in his own home. The Russian had listened incredulously: unable to believe what he was hearing, unable to deny that he actually was hearing it. It was outrageous. Rider was actively luring a known assassin to his personal home by using another assassin as bait? And MI6 was letting him! 

“Alex will come for him,” Ian had promised. “We want Alex to come for him, remember. Please, just let him come.” Ian knew what he was doing. He believed that if Alex were anything like John had been there was no way that Alex would kill a family member, never, not for anyone. He just needed a chance to tell Alex the truth. Just a few moments, that was all, and then Alex could come home to him. Ian knew, just as Alan Blunt did, that if Alex were captured by MI6 first he would rather go down fighting than surrender. But if Ian spoke to him, and if Alex listened, every thing could be different. 

Ian would have his family back. 

Yassen’s arms were tied above his head with wire. When Yassen had struggled, the wire had cut into his wrists and blood had flowed sluggishly down his arms. Ian had taken a few moments to clean him up and cover the cuts, and warned Yassen not to try slitting his wrists again. That hadn’t been the Russian’s intention; he had been testing his restraints, trying to calculate his chances of escaping, but he had said nothing in response to Rider’s teasing. 

He turned to stare at Ian. 

“You will leave Alex alone,” Yassen said after an hour of uncomfortable silence. 

The housekeeper moved around downstairs, tidying or cooking or doing whatever Ian paid her to do. Upstairs, both men had been in the same room for over an hour, sitting tense and silent and hyper-aware of each other. 

“I would never hurt Alex,” Ian whispered. “I believe I’m quite like you in that respect.” 

“We are nothing alike. I did not betray my family.” Yassen turned his head away, missing the confused expression that stole over Ian’s face. 

“You don’t know!” Ian breathed. He should have guessed, he supposed. Since Ian had found out that Alex was alive, Alan and Tulip had continually assured him that Yassen would never hurt Alex. He should have known that Yassen still cared for John. He would never remain working for the people who had truly killed the man. Ian could relate to him. They really were quite similar. For years, Yassen had believed that he and Mrs. Jones were the murderers of his closest friend. Similarly, Ian had believed that the man bound and helpless before him had tortured and murdered his infant nephew. There were so many possibilities for revenge, with Yassen tied up before him, but now Ian knew better. He knew the truth and it was time for Yassen to as well. 

“I know enough!” the assassin spat, turning back to glare at the agent. “You betrayed him. If you touch Alex I will kill you.” Blue eyes hardened as they met Ian’s, and the elder man just smiled softly in response. 

“They talk of a man betraying his country, his friends, his family. There must be a moral bond first. All a man can betray is his conscience,” Ian quoted softly, not bothering to defend himself. When Alex arrived, there would be time enough to tell them the truth.6 

Yassen bared his teeth, his face contorted with anger and hate. Ian pitied him. He could sympathise, he supposed: so much time wasted needlessly hating someone. Yassen was not the target for his hatred, not really. No one had killed Alex and the boy had grown up unharmed, physically at least. But John! John was still dead and replacing the faces of his killers would not change that fact. Yassen was entitled to keep his anger, but anger was a destructive force and seeking revenge against Scorpia, no matter how justified, was a destructive action. Ian pitied the man before him, the man whose life and beliefs were about to change so drastically, and he wouldn’t even have Alex to help him through it. 

Ian would be keeping Alex. 

The phone rang downstairs. Jack, Ian’s housekeeper called up to him, breaking the horrid silence. “Phone, Ian! It’s the bank!” she shouted. 

“Don’t go anywhere,” Ian quipped before he slipped from of the room. Yassen heard the front door slam a moment later and then a car engine turned over outside. 

Yassen was in the larger of the two spare bedrooms. It might have belonged to Alex, had Ian been the one to raise the boy. Yassen clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. The thought of Alex being left alone with that man, in this house, made his stomach twist, and he was so very thankful that he had chosen to follow the suspicious-looking black car from Liverpool Street to Cheyne Walk thirteen years ago. 

Yassen tensed. He heard the front door open and close. He heard the housekeeper’s shocked cry and then the familiar soft ‘phut’ of a bullet through a silencer. Jack’s body hit the floor, and Yassen heard footsteps as someone made their way slowly up the stairs. 

“Hello маленький ангел,” Yassen whispered as Alex closed the bedroom door behind himself.4 

A wide smile spread itself across Alex’s face and his eyes brightened. “Hello lover,” he greeted, as he bent over Yassen’s head to cut away the wire that bound him to the headboard. 

Yassen rotated his hands slowly, rubbing at his wrists to get the blood circulation flowing properly again. His legs had been left untied. He swung them easily to the side and slid off of the bed. The moment he was standing, he pressed himself against Alex’s back, with his lips on Alex’s neck. He kissed lightly down the column of Alex’s throat. 

“Mmm, thank you,” he whispered between kisses, “my hero.” Alex melted back against Yassen’s chest with a low moan, arching his neck to offer more of his throat to the assassin. “How can I ever repay you?” Yassen teased, his hands running up the sides of Alex’s legs, pulling them apart so that he could settle comfortably between them. 

Alex pulled away. He half-turned his body towards Yassen but the Russian’s hand on Alex’s shoulder twisted him back again. 

“Yassen no,” Alex hissed, bucking lightly. “Now isn’t the time.” Yassen ignored him. With a scowl, Alex reached behind to shove at Yassen’s chest, “We have to go.” 

“Now is the perfect time,” Yassen insisted. One hand grabbed Alex by the short hairs at the base of his skull, and he tugged the boy forward, knocking him onto the bed. Yassen moved behind him, pinning Alex in place with his own body. He had the boy bent over the side of the bed. Alex shoved back at him but Yassen’s grip on his hair tightened and Alex stopped struggling. 

“Here is the perfect place.” Fucking Ian’s nephew in what should have been Alex’s room: it was too good an opportunity to stick it to Ian Rider for Yassen to pass up. 

“Yassen! Please!” Alex shouted. He began panting softly, as Yassen reached beneath him to palm the bulge in his trousers. “We need to go.” 

“No. You need to take off your clothing.” 

The Russian’s hands busied themselves undressing Alex. The boy didn’t struggle as Yassen pulled his t-shirt over his head, and he pushed his hips back, aiding Yassen in slipping off his trousers. When the elder man bent to remove Alex’s shoes and socks Alex made no attempt to escape. He lay there compliantly, and it was only when he heard the sound of Yassen’s zipper opening that he began to protest again. 

3“Seriously, моя любовь, we must go. Don’t… ah… I said don’t!” A finger probed his entrance, rough and dry, and Alex pushed back against it, seeking more. “We can’t, we, stop! Oh god!” Above him, Yassen chuckled lightly, his face pressed to the back of Alex’s neck, his lips brushing soft kisses to the skin within reach. “Do that again,” Alex commanded, and Yassen added a third finger within him. 

Yassen removed his hand, licking over his fingers. He stared down at Alex with a curious smile on his mouth. Alex turned his head, a groan of protest forcing its way passed chapped, trembling lips. “Do you really wish me to stop?” 

“If you dare, I’ll never let you touch me again!” Alex hissed, his eyes narrowing. 

Yassen chuckled again, having expected that answer. He pushed three fingers into Alex without warning. The boy arched off of the bed, moaning loudly, before pressing his hips down against the sheets seeking friction. “Be still,” Yassen commanded, and Alex instantly stopped moving, lying completely, frustratingly still as Yassen fucked him with his fingers. “Do you want me to stop, Alex?” 

“God no. Don’t stop. Fuck me, fuck me please?” 

“Are you certain?” Yassen’s lips twitched. He freed himself from his trousers with his other hand. He jerked his hips forward, letting the tip of his erection brush lightly against one cheek of Alex’s arse. “Is this what you want, ангел?”4 

“Yes, yes, I want this, I want you. Please, oh, please.” Yassen listened to him begging breathlessly for a moment, before pulling his fingers out slowly, smirking when Alex groaned as they dragged against his prostate. “You bastard!” Alex shrieked, as Yassen left him empty and wanting. “Fuck me already!” 

“As you wish.” 

He pushed forward, his cock sinking into the tight warmth offered up before him. Yassen let his head drop forward onto Alex’s shoulder blade with a strangled groan. It had been so long, far too long since the last time he had touched Alex. He hadn’t even seen the boy in six weeks, not since before he’d begun the Stormbreaker mission, and before then Yassen had been too injured to indulge himself in the pleasures of Alex’s body. It had been a while, but it had definitely been worth the wait. The feel of Alex was everything he remembered it to be, except he was tighter than the last time Yassen had taken him. Almost two months without being used, Yassen remembered. It had been almost two months. 

“Fuck,” Alex grunted beneath him as Yassen pulled out and pushed back in again. Alex jerked his hips back and forth in time with the Russian’s thrusts, rocking his cock against the cotton bedding that felt oh-so-good against his swollen erection. 

Yassen muttered something into the hollow between Alex’s shoulders. While not having heard him, Alex knew what had been said. 

“Love you too,” he whispered, turning his head against the pillow, pressing his face down to muffle his cries as Yassen struck his prostate again. “Love you.” 

Yassen kissed his neck and his back, arching into him, covering him and pressing down on him. Every part of Alex was touching Yassen, and the teenager panted at the thought of belonging entirely to one person. No one else had ever touched him. Yassen would never have allowed it, and he had never wanted it. The thoughts of being with Yassen, of being his entirely, made Alex’s cock throb with excitement, and he ground his hips against the bed frantically. 

Yassen’s free hand crept between Alex and the sheets, circling the neediest part of Alex’s anatomy. He jerked Alex off roughly. The boy gasped in pain a handful of times, but loved every moment and every feeling because it was Yassen inflicting it on him. When he came, he cried out Yassen’s name loudly, throwing his head back and thrusting into Yassen’s tight fist. The muscles in his arse convulsed, squeezing and unclenching around Yassen’s cock as the assassin roughly fucked the body beneath him. The hand that was sticky with Alex’s come dug into the bed sheets beside the boy’s head. He clamped his free hand around Alex’s hip hard enough to bruise. Yassen came shortly after: the tightness and warmth of Alex overwhelming him. He tugged Alex’s face to the side for a sloppy kiss as his hips jerked and he orgasmed within his teenage lover. 

“Alex,” he breathed, as he drew out slowly. Alex whimpered at the feeling, cringing at the obscene noise as Yassen separated their bodies. “Love.” 

Alex could hear the accent in Yassen’s voice. He smiled, rolling out from under the fully dressed man and tugging him back down on top of him. His bare legs wrapped around Yassen’s waist and his arms locked around Yassen’s neck. “Say it again.” 

“I love you, Alex.” The accent faded as Yassen regained control over his body, but before he could completely compose himself Alex dragged him into a kiss. It was wet and vicious and Yassen bit at Alex’s bottom lip savagely. He pressed Alex possessively down onto the bed, as he claimed the child’s mouth for his own. Yassen’s right hand wandered downwards, but Alex caught his wrist firmly. 

“We really can’t. I won’t let you distract me again.” Alex managed to keep a straight face but he couldn’t stop the longing from seeping into his voice. He wanted Yassen to touch him again, but they just didn’t have time. 

“Alex,” Yassen said warningly. He broke free of Alex’s grip, and grabbed hold of Alex’s cock, stroking the organ until it hardened. 

Alex panted, fair hair falling into his eyes. He looked up at Yassen half-lidded. “Please stop.” Yassen didn’t. He stroked faster, wringing a low groan from the boy. “I can’t… this is a mission!” He finally managed to say, but only after he was brought to orgasm. 

Yassen paused, half way through licking the come off of his fingers. “Why didn’t you say so sooner?” He was composed and businesslike in the blink of an eye. Yassen zipped up his pants, straightened his shirt and turned to the teenager. “Get dressed, Alex. What was your mission?” 

“To rescue you?” The boy fiddled with his socks, turning them inside out before pulling them on one after the other, and then he tugged up his trousers. 

“I would say I have been sufficiently rescued. What else?” Yassen handed his t-shirt over, and Alex gratefully accepted it. 

“If you were dead or had been tortured then I was to kill Rider. Nile is waiting at the motel for us. He’s supposed to tell me the rest of the plan when we get back.” 

“Nile is here?” There was something off about Yassen’s voice again, and it was unexpected enough that Alex snapped his head up. He met wide blue eyes, and realized that Yassen was afraid! “Where?” He grabbed Alex by the shoulders, and shook him lightly. 

“The motel Ernesto and I booked after Sayle’s arrest. Nile and I are using the same room.” 

“You’re alone?” Yassen questioned. None of his weapons were here. They had remained behind at the Royal and General. The Russian felt half-naked without them. “Do you have a gun?” 

Alex handed over a loaded Glock; the silencer was still attached. He had left it down on the bookcase when he had entered the room, along with a hunting knife. “I’m not alone with him. You’re here now. We really need to go though. They’ve arranged to exchange us tomorrow morning, and I bet you anything that Scorpia are planning to double cross Blunt!” 

Alex turned to grin at him, but ended up frowning. Yassen stared back at him, his head tilted to one side, and calmly said, “They are not the only ones Scorpia plan to double cross.” 

Brown eyes narrowed. “What?” Alex took a step back, his hand moving instinctively to grab the knife he had also brought. 

Yassen’s eyes closed, his fists clenched at his sides. He prepared himself to tell Alex what he had heard of Julia’s plan. He opened his mouth. Then snapped it closed again. 

Ian Rider was framed in the bedroom doorway, his gun pointed at Yassen. In his free hand was a mobile phone. “Going somewhere?” he said, grinning. 

_XXX_

April 5th 2001. Same day. 

Ian didn’t know how he had done it. He was quite sure he didn’t want to know. After all, how does one actually manage to sneak into MI6’s headquarters, tap the phone line of the Head of Operations, and place a call from a different place while making it appear to have come from Alan Blunt’s office? Ian didn’t know how he had done it, but Alex Rider _had_ done it. He had impersonated Mr. Blunt. Ian had driven from his house to Liverpool Street, doing far more than an acceptable speed, and had left Yassen Gregorovich alone with Jack. 

It had been a ploy. A very clever trick, he had to admit. While he was gone, arguing with several secretaries and lower-downs who were all insisting that Alan had gone to see the Prime Minister, that Alan wasn’t in his office, that Alan didn’t want to see him, Alex had broken into his house and murdered his housekeeper. 

Ian had got himself home as quickly as possible. He broke every Road Traffic law that he could name but he had still been too late. 

Jack Starbright’s body was sprawled across the bottom two steps of the staircase, her red hair fanned over her pale, dead face. Wide eyes stared up at him accusingly through the curtain of her hair, and Ian turned his face away in disgust. He couldn’t even hate Alex for doing it. He couldn’t hate Alex, ever, no matter what evils the boy committed. 

Scorpia had made him do it. 

Ian pulled his phone out of his pocket, holding down the number ‘9’ until it started ringing. He didn’t hold it to his ear; there was no need. It was the agent’s emergency services number, and as long as Ian kept on the line MI6 would be able to track his phone signal back to the house. Response time when the number ‘9’ was dialled was less than ten minutes. He just had to keep Alex talking for ten minutes. He had to stop Gregorovich from escaping. 

There were voices upstairs, muffled but urgent. While Ian would have liked to listen in and learn all he could, he was far more theatrical than John had ever been. At the top of the stairs, he paused. Covert was one thing, and suspicious another. But a real spy did it like James Bond! 

He kicked at the bedroom door, and it smashed inwards, bouncing off of the wall. Gun cocked, he pointed it at the Russian’s chest. His phone was still held loosely in his free hand. He placed it down on top of the bookcase beside him, smiling slightly at Alex. “Going somewhere?” 

Alex sighed. “Well at least he knows how to make an entrance.” 

Yassen took a step forward, and raised his own gun. 

Ian clicked the safety off on his. “Sit on the bed.” 

Alex sat down. Almost immediately, Yassen moved in front of him, but still didn’t sit. The assassin didn’t think Ian would kill Alex but he wasn’t taking any chances on his lover getting hurt because of him. Alex had wanted to leave, but Yassen had kept them there. This was his fault, and if anyone would suffer for it he’d rather it be him. 

“You should be careful with that,” Yassen said softly, eyes never leaving Ian’s face. “Wouldn’t want to cause an accident.” 

“It isn’t an accident if I meant to shoot you.” Brown eyes mocked him, pale pink lips twisted into a wry smile. Ian flicked his wrist in Alex’s direction, twisting his body to half-point around the assassin, and then switched the gun’s safety back on. “But you’re right,” he drawled, “I wouldn’t want to hurt Alex.” 

Mostly hidden from sight, Alex pulled his t-shirt off over his head and dropped it on the bed behind him. He had done this plenty of times in the past. There was no reason for him to suddenly feel uncomfortable. His age and his body had gotten him out of some very sticky situations in the past, and Alex had never had a problem flaunting himself before. This time should have felt the same as ever other time: clinical, necessary and impersonal. But instead his hands were shaking as they popped open the button on his jeans, and his heart hammered in his chest as he nudged Yassen aside. 

“What do you want, Rider?” Alex asked, his voice soft and smooth. He slid from the bed, gracefully rising to his feet. Alex walked forward slowly, swinging his hips teasingly. 

There was a resemblance between Ian and him, and that was what was making Alex nervous he realized. Not only did they share the same surname, but also they shared similar features. Someone would have told him if he had a living relative out in the world somewhere, wouldn’t they? Surely they would have. Alex brushed the concern aside. He had to play his part. 

“What exactly can I do for you?” A sexy smile fitted itself on Alex’s mouth, the edges turning up. His lips barely parted from one another before Alex flicked his tongue out to moisten them. 

Behind him, Yassen went rigid with jealousy. Ian blinked, his face drawn and pale, and he watched in confusion as his nephew sauntered towards him. The boy was practically chest-to-chest with him by the time he managed to react. “Stop that!” 

Alex smirked. He reached out with one hand, gently trailing his fingers down Ian’s chest until they rested just above the waistline of his pants. Looking coyly up at Ian through his eyelashes, Alex breathed, “Do you really mean that?” 

He placed a soft kiss to Ian’s cheek. As the man went to shove him back Alex reached out with both hands, grabbing Ian’s wrists lightening quick and pressed his mouth to the elder man’s. 

“Tell me what you want.” He moved forward again, pressing a bolder kiss to Ian’s mouth and the man couldn’t stop himself from responding. Alex panted against Ian’s lips when they broke apart, “Tell me what you need.” He let go of one wrist, moving his hand to press against the bulge in Ian’s trousers. “What can I do for you, Agent Rider?” 

Ian shook his head, his eyes squeezing closed. It was the sound of his title that had awakened his senses, and he shoved Alex back viciously. For one moment he didn’t care about hurting the child. All he cared about was getting away from the boy – his nephew – who he suddenly and undeniably wanted to fuck. 

“I need to tell you the truth!” Ian shouted his hands clenched at his sides. “And don’t, don’t do that again!” 

“People never mean it when they say stop. Not people like us anyway.” Alex tilted his head to one side as he spoke, studying the fair-haired man curiously. “We say ‘no’ but what we really mean is ‘god yes, but I’m not supposed to want this’. It’s a form of denial you know, and we all indulge in it. Myself included. In fact, it was minutes ago that I was _begging_ Yassen to stop.” Alex allowed his lips to curve upwards, loving the green tinge that spread across Ian’s cheeks. “Luckily for me, Yassen doesn’t take no for an answer.” Alex licked his lips obscenely. Behind him Yassen chuckled. 

“That is enough.” Ian took a deep breath. He didn’t want to hear anymore, he didn’t even want to think about what Alex had been implying. It was the same lie Mr. Blunt had told Felix before sending him to Cornwall. Had Ian’s employers known the truth and failed to tell him yet another secret regarding his nephew, or had they been making a wild but accurate guess? His head hurt just thinking about all of the lies that surrounded his life, and while usually he hated them, this one time he was fine with being lied to. He had no desire to know if Alex really was fucking a man twenty-one years his senior. 

“I need to speak to you Alex,” he said. 

“So speak. It’s a free country. I’m not promising to listen though.” 

Ian’s lips twitched. Alex sounded just like he had many, many years ago when John had first decided to join the army and Ian had refused to let him explain his choices. The similarities between them made his chest hurt. He took a step towards the boy and smiled sadly. “You don’t need to listen now, Alex. I have the rest of our lives to tell you. You aren’t going anywhere.” 

“The hell I’m not!” Alex hissed, “I have places to be.” 

“MI6 has already deployed a response team. They’ll be here in probably a minute or two. You aren’t going anywhere Alex.” He cut a quick glance at Yassen, “Neither of you are.” 

“The hell I’m not,” Alex muttered again. The thought of staying here, of having no choice but to remain here, surrounded by all of the people who had conspired to kill John Rider made Alex feel sick. His stomach felt like it had been tied into knots, and he swallowed heavily, gritting his teeth. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t. MI6 would use him, twist him, and force him to hurt people that he cared about. They’d take his life into their hands and destroy him just as they had destroyed his father. But his death would take years. It would be years of working for his enemy, instead of just a quick shot in the back. Alex squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. Then coming to a decision, he opened them again. He’d rather die here than go with them willingly. 

Alex lunged forward, tackling Ian around the waist and knocking them both to the floor. He had to wrestle the gun out of the older man’s hands, and when Alex stood back up, untangling his legs from Ian’s, he cradled the gun lovingly between both of his hands. 

Ian raised his palms, fingers spread wide, and he looked up at Alex imploringly. “Put down the gun, Alex,” he whispered. 

Instead of pointing the gun at Ian, as the man had thought Alex would do, the child held it against his own temple. 

“I’d rather die than stay with the people who killed my father.” His voice was cold, his jaw clenched, and his hands had finally stopped shaking. Alex had one finger on the trigger, and his other hand hung limply by his side. Yassen reached forward for it, clasping it gently in his own while his other hand moved to point his own gun at the fallen spy. 

“Ok! Ok! Don’t!” Ian screamed, holding his hands up unthreateningly. He lay back on the floor, placing his arms slowly down by his sides. Alex’s hand trembled as he lowered the gun. “Go,” Ian whispered. 

“You’re letting us go?” Alex’s voice shook, filled with disbelief. 

“Go.” Ian said. He turned his face away, unable to watch as Alex was taken out of his life again. Yassen pulled the child forward, all but shoving him down the stairs and out of Ian’s front door. 

Alex still held the gun in his hand, and in a few hours when Ian finally noticed it was missing he would laugh. It had been his favourite gun and he had asked Mr. Smithers to place a tracking device within it. 

_XXX_

April 7th 2001. 

Alex had wanted to go back to the motel. He had wanted to give Nile and Mrs. Rothman the benefit of the doubt, because after all they had helped to raise him and train him and make him who he was. Not to mention that he had left his possessions behind when he had gone to rescue Yassen. While they were mostly things that he could replace, one or two of them had sentimental value, gifts from Yassen and such, that he liked to bring with him when he left home. 

Yassen had convinced him that they were best left behind. With his mouth and his fingers and his tongue, Yassen had convinced Alex to avoid the motel for now and to avoid Nile completely. Just as they would avoid any British government official. 

The arranged swap-over could not take place without either Alex or Yassen present. The two assassins had taken precautions to keep themselves completely below radar until that day and the one after it had passed. It was only when the sun had finished setting that Yassen looked over at Alex and nodded. 

They would treat this as a general cooling-off period; the same Ernesto and Alex had been treated to after the Stormbreaker assignment had failed. When a mission goes wrong, you hole up somewhere with your partner and you _wait_. If it is not safe, if you feel you are in danger (and Yassen most certainly felt Alex was) then you wait. When it is safe, you ignore all previous orders and make your way back to Malagosto, unless an agent is already en route to collect you. 

If Nile complained, Yassen was sure they would be able to avoid any serious repercussions by claiming that they had been following standard protocol. Once they were back at Malagosto everything would be fine. There were eleven other governing members to seek protection from, after all. Mrs. Rothman did not control Scorpia alone. They would be safe once they were home. 

Of course, Yassen did not know that Julia had changed her plan. He still thought she out and out wanted Alex dead. He did not know that she would only kill him if he failed his mission. Yassen was well aware that failing a serious mission and endangering another operative because of that failure was a crime punishable by death in the eyes of _all_ of Scorpia’s founding members. 

Unfortunately for them, Nile knew that Ian Rider was still alive. 

When Yassen and Alex left the B&B they had been staying in, Nile was waiting for them outside. He fired at Yassen first, the bullet ripping through his thigh. The shot had been carefully aimed to miss any major arteries but to bring Yassen down with just one bullet. Ian’s gun was tucked into Alex’s belt, and the boy fumbled to pull it out. The sight of Yassen falling face first to the ground, blood pooling around him as he gasped in pain and surprise, had been enough to stun the teenager momentarily. By the time he had the gun out and cocked, Nile was already on him. Black hands closed around Alex’s throat, thumbs pressing down just beneath the chin and Alex felt his head swim. He panted and kicked wildly, trying desperately to buck the larger man off of him. Nile merely grinned down at him as he squeezed Alex’s throat harder. 

Alex’s vision swam, his eyes blurring in and out of focus. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was Nile’s eyes bulging out of his sockets, his teeth flashing white. He reminded Alex of Judge Doom, just before he died.7 

_XXX_

April 8th 2001. 

When Alex woke up, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. 

He blinked slowly, trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden brightness of the room. His shoulders hurt, his muscles burning from being stretched above his head all night, and Alex tugged futilely on the chains that hung from the ceiling and wrapped twice around each wrist. There was just enough slack for him to stand flat-footed on the ground, and with a frown he realized he had no shoes on. As he looked down, he gasped, noting with anger that he was completely naked. 

He hated it when people undressed him while he was unconscious. 

He didn’t appear to be in worse condition than he last remembered, other than the painful bruises on his throat. Those had been newly inflicted by Nile, and they made it hurt to breathe. Alex swallowed down a groan, remembering with embarrassment exactly what he had been doing with Yassen before they had left the B&B. The evidence of that was probably flaked on his inner thighs, and no doubt Nile had seen it. 

He dragged his mind away from that thought. Everyone at Scorpia knew what he and Yassen got up to in their personal time. It wasn’t like Nile hadn’t known as well. There were more important things to worry about, Alex reminded himself. 

He looked around, noting the metal gurney that had been left just a foot away from him, and covered by a transparent plastic sheet. Being able to see what was hidden beneath it didn’t make Alex feel any better about his situation. Knives, and scalpels, and pliers, and Ian’s gun, and god was that a screwdriver? Alex fought against the fear that welled up inside of him. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been tortured before, he reminded himself mentally. But there was a difference between someone torturing you to prepare you, to help you learn to withstand it, and someone actually torturing you for real, for pleasure. His breath came in short pants. His heart lodged in his throat. 

Through his panic he could hear someone whispering, “Calm yourself, ангел.”4 

Alex took a deep breath and let it out slowly, opening his eyes again. They landed on Yassen, who was tied to a chair to the left of him, and Alex wondered how he hadn’t noticed the Russian sooner. The elder man’s skin was an unhealthy shade of grey, and his trousers were missing. He was still wearing his boxer shorts and his socks and shoes, but around one thigh was a thick white bandage that blood was already beginning to seep through. 

“He didn’t want me to die until after I had watched you suffer,” Yassen informed him matter-of-factly. His blasé tone was enough to make Alex laugh softly, startled but comforted by Yassen’s familiar way of being. 

“We need to get out of here,” Alex whispered, frantically casting his gaze around the inside of the building. They appeared to be inside of a warehouse, though it was mostly empty apart from some old crates and boxes shoved in the far corner. At the moment, they were alone. 

“You are not getting out of those chains, Alex,” Yassen told him softly, his eyes sad and blue. “And I can barely walk. We are not escaping.” 

Above his head, Alex’s hands clenched. “No,” he insisted. “We need to get out of here.” 

He didn’t believe in no-win situations. Any time he had been captured before, Yassen had come to his rescue, and vice versa on the limited occasions that Yassen found himself a prisoner. They had never both been captured together before now, and in Alex’s mind that just meant that while they were together they had double the chance of escaping as they would have had alone. 

“Gregorovich is right,” Nile said loudly, as the doors swung open. He walked into the room and let the door close behind him, not bothering to lock it. No one knew they were there, not even Mrs. Rothman. “You aren’t going anywhere, Alex Rider.” 

“You can’t do this!” Alex spat, eyes narrowed. “You have no right.” 

“I have every right. You failed a mission and put a valued agent at risk.” Nile smirked at him. 

“I didn’t fail the Stormbreaker mission. I had finished my assignment before Sayle fucked it up!” Alex screamed, coming to the wrong conclusion. 

Nile chuckled, coming closer to Alex slowly, a smile spreading across his black and white face. Nile suffered from Vitiligo, a skin coloration disorder, and if he lived past middle-aged, he would die a white man, even though he had been born black. Those that didn’t like Nile offered referred to him as ‘the Zebra’, an ‘ass with stripes’, and while Alex had never used the phrase himself, he could see where they had been coming from. Nile’s skin was black and white. And he was an arse. 

“No, no, young Alex. I was talking about this mission. But while we’re on the subject, did you really shoot a fourteen-year-old boy in the head at point blank range?” Yassen jerked in his seat, eyes flicking to Alex and back to Nile just in time for the man to burst into laughter. “Oh brilliant! Never knew you had it in you. Especially since you were so vocally against dear Herod’s plan.” 

“I have no problem killing children, singular,” the teenager said in return. He raised his chin, keeping his eyes fixed on Nile’s face, and he blanked all emotion off of his own. He wouldn’t give Nile whatever satisfaction he was looking for. Then his eyes narrowed. “What mission?” he asked, remembering what Nile had said. “I rescued Yassen. He _was_ fine, before you shot him.” 

“You failed to kill Rider.” 

Yassen and Alex met each other’s eyes, both of them trying not to look as shocked as they felt. “Y-You said,” Alex stuttered. He stopped, and cleared his throat. “You said to kill him if Yassen had been injured or killed, and he hadn’t been.” 

“Oh Alex. You must not have been listening properly. Pity, since it’s going to cost you your life, and his,” Nile said, baring his teeth as his grinned. “But yours first.” He tugged the plastic off of the gurney and let it drop to the ground. As blotchy fingers skimmed over the various toys laid out on display, Alex couldn’t stop his feet from taking several panicked steps back. Above his head the chains swayed heavily, and then went taunt. There was no more give left in them, Alex couldn’t get any further away, and Nile had already chosen his weapon of choice and was moving towards Alex with the scalpel held out. 

Alex kicked, aiming for Nile’s hand, hoping to hit him hard enough to break a few fingers. Nile must have been expecting Alex to lash out, because he twisted his arm out of the way, and then dived forward as Alex went to draw his leg back. The scalpel slashed along the boy’s ankle, and the unexpectedness of the cut – the horrid stinging and burning that followed – made Alex cry out. 

Nile grunted, lips twitching. “I hoped you wouldn’t break this easily.” He sounded disappointed. He ran the tip of the surgical blade through the hairs leading from Alex’s belly button down to his groin. “I had been looking forward to this for a long time, Alex, and I want you to last.” Alex gave another cry as Nile raised his hand; the blade caught him just under the eye, dragging down over his cheek and splitting the skin open. As the blood began to flow, it looked at first as if Alex was crying red tears, and Nile added another cut, a matching one, to Alex’s other cheek. 

Yassen hissed between his teeth, his narrowed in anger. Alex could see him biting through his bottom lip, trying hard not to provoke the man who held Alex’s life in his hands. But it was hard for him, Alex knew. Thinking of Yassen, and not of himself, Alex resolved to try his hardest not to make any noise. Nile didn’t deserve to know how scared he was, and Yassen didn’t deserve to watch him suffer. 

“Please, Sir, can I have some more?” Alex said, giving a breathless chuckle as Nile’s eyes narrowed into slits. 

“That’s more like it,” he drawled after a moment. “I think I want to play with the pliers for a while now.” The elder man replaced the pliers with the bloody scalpel, and Alex bit down on his tongue, preparing himself for what he knew Nile was going to do. When the first toenail came off Alex barely managed to stop himself from screaming, but he quite couldn’t hold back the horrible, gurgling whimper that escaped from his throat. After the third toenail, Alex was crying, sobbing desperately as Nile smashed the bone with the handle of the tool. When Nile finally moved on to Alex’s second foot, Yassen had been forced to turn his head away, unable to watch anymore. Alex was hanging in the chains, his wrists and shoulders throbbing from the weight of him hanging limply. 

“Stop it,” Alex whispered. 

“Make me,” Nile said. He threw down the pliers, and paused, running his eyes over the other toys he had prepared earlier. The gun would be last, so he skipped over that one. Knives were Alex’s favourite weapons, and the irony of breaking the boy using one (one he had stolen from Alex’s bedroom in Malagosto to be even more ironic) would be fun, but it could wait until later. There was something else Nile had always wanted to try. 

He picked up the screwdriver, rolling it between his palms as he walked around Alex to stand behind the boy. He had to wrap an arm around Alex’s neck, keeping the boy’s head bent forward so that he wouldn’t be able to head-butt him. His other hand reached up, holding the screwdriver, and he pressed the tip of the tool against the webbing of Alex’s hand. It took a lot of force, and quite a lot of time and jiggling about, for Nile to force the tip of the screwdriver through the thenar space of Alex’s left hand. Muscle and nerves tore and ripped, and this time Alex really did scream. When Nile finally had the screwdriver pushed all the way through, Alex had already lost consciousness. 

_XXX_

April 9th 2001. 

When Alex woke next, there was no gurney in sight, but his back and his ribs and his chest hurt like a bitch. He looked down, and all of the skin he could see in the places that hurt were a mixture of black, blue and purple bruises. Nile must have worked Alex over while he was out cold. He twisted his neck, trying to look over his shoulders to glimpse his back, but it made his arm sockets and his ribs grind painfully, so he stopped. It was harder to breathe that it had been yesterday, and Alex was rather afraid that Nile might have fractured or broken one of his ribs. 

If Alex got out of this mess alive it was going to be an unpleasant experience having his broken bones re-broken and set again. At least he would have morphine in a hospital though, he consoled himself. 

“You’re awake,” Nile said, standing behind him. A hand grazed the base of Alex’s spine and the teenager jumped forward, ignoring the pain it caused him, needing to be out of Nile’s reach. “Now, now,” he was chastised, “don’t be like that. We had fun last night didn’t we?” The hand was on him again, except this time it had drifted lower and the tips of Nile’s fingers were dipping between the cheeks of his arse. 

Alex kicked backwards, missing Nile completely, but feeling better for having tried to hurt the bastard. His arse didn’t feel sore, and his thighs weren’t sticky, so he knew he hadn’t been raped… yet. The fact that Nile had even thought to taunt him with the idea of having been violated and not being able to remember it made Alex’s stomach churn. No one had touched him like that except Yassen, and that was the way he liked it. Nile mentioning it meant he had considered it, and Alex panted in fear, whimpering low in his throat as Nile stepped closer to him, bringing Alex’s back flush to the man’s bare chest, and Alex could feel something poking at his backside. 

God no, he thought. “Oh please no.” 

“If you touch him, I will kill you,” Yassen hissed. Alex’s eyes snapped to the other man’s, and it was obvious by the bruises on Yassen’s face that Nile had beaten him unconscious last night too. He had only woken up, and Nile made sure to grin at Yassen over Alex’s shoulder as he pushed two fingers into the boy’s entrance. 

“Tough words from the guy tied to a chair,” Nile taunted. He used his free hand to unzip his trousers, pushing them lower and lower down his hips until his cock sprung free. “Alex wants it, don’t you baby? You don’t mean ‘no’, do you?” He twisted his fingers, dragging them across Alex’s prostate and the teenager could help the gasp that left his mouth or the interested twitch his cock gave in response. “What he really means is ‘god yes, but he’s not supposed to want this’. Isn’t that right, love?” 

Alex’s whole body froze. Nile had just said the exact same thing Alex had said to Ian. Nile must have been listening, spying on them. God, he must have seen the whole thing: him and Yassen fucking, him kissing Ian and threatening to shoot himself. He had known where they were all along, Alex betted, and had been lulling them into a false sense of security, allowing them to think that they were safe from him. Alex gasped, his chest heaving as he tried desperately not to cry again. All he had been doing for the past two days was crying or screaming and he was getting sick of it. He had never felt more stupid in his life. 

“Get your hands off of him!” Yassen snarled, lurching forward in the chair. He breathed heavily through his nose, nostrils flaring in anger, and he swallowed all of the abusive words he wanted to hurl at the man assaulting _his_ lover. His energy would be better spent trying to wriggle free of his restraints. He had almost gotten one arm free, the rope nearly loose enough to slip his hand through, and when that happened it wouldn’t be hard for Yassen to untie the rest of the knots without Nile noticing. 

The other man was rather occupied. 

“You want me, don’t you Alex?” Nile’s free hand caressed Alex’s stomach, sliding lower, picking at the scabbing wound he had left on Alex’s lower belly with the scalpel the night before, until his fingers finally closed around Alex’s cock. He stroked, with long, harsh tugs, ignoring the way Alex tried to squirm away from his hands. “Just like you wanted your uncle to kiss you back, hmm?” He dropped a wet kiss to Alex’s neck, laughing lowly as Alex drew in a sharp breath. 

“I don’t have an uncle,” Alex whispered. 

“Are you really so fucking stupid?” Nile shouted. Both hands removed themselves from Alex’s body, and Nile grabbed Alex by the shoulders, shaking him. 

“Ian Rider is your fucking uncle!” He slapped Alex hard across the face, and the boy’s head rocked to one side and back again from the force of the strike. Alex blinked slowly, his eyes tearing up, but he didn’t mind. Nile could hit him as much as he wanted, just as long as he wasn’t touching Alex _there_ again. 

“Ian?” Alex whispered, looking over at Yassen with wide eyes. 

Yassen refused to meet his gaze, and Alex lowered his eyes to the floor, feeling stupid and foolish for having been the last to know that his own uncle had murdered his father. Why had no one told him? 

“He tried to tell you the truth, didn’t he? But you wouldn’t listen. Perfect protégé Alex Rider, too stubborn to listen to others. Son of the great John Rider, so of course he must be brilliant. Pig-headed and immature too, but everyone simply overlooked that, didn’t they, Alex? And look where it’s gotten you!” Both hands closed over the sides of Alex’s face. The blood dried on his face flaked off beneath Nile’s fingers as the man’s fingers dug into the flesh of his cheeks. “You don’t know anything, Rider. But look at you, so angry at the world, so vengeful, and so very misguided. Though I can’t really blame you for that; all of your misplaced anger is Yassen’s fault, isn’t it? He was the one who told you bedtime stories about how sweet revenge against Ian would be, how you would one day welcome Tulip Jones’ violent death, how brave and loyal your father was. But your father was a traitor, Alex. He was nothing but a traitor.” 

“LIAR!” Yassen screamed, angrier than Alex could ever remember him being. In Alex’s whole life he had never witnessed something as scary as the look on Yassen’s face. He looked almost ready to peel the skin off of Nile’s face with just his nails, tearing and gouging and _hurting_ , until Nile was dead or mad from the pain. 

“I’m not lying, Gregorovich. You should have let your uncle explain, Alex. Your father worked for them. It was a family business, you could say, John and Ian Rider together, and maybe you as well one day? Julia called it deep cover. MI6 ruined John’s career, sent him to prison and fucked up his life, and all so that he would be more valuable to Scorpia. None of it was real.” He turned and narrowed his eyes at Yassen, “none of it.” 

“That’s not true. He saved Yassen’s life. He took care of him. That was real.” Alex tried to meet Yassen’s eyes, but the Russian kept his face turned away, purposely avoiding looking at Alex. Alex’s whole life revolved around John and Yassen’s relationship. Without it, John would never have died, and Yassen would never have kidnapped Alex and grown to love him. If none of it had been real… it didn’t bear thinking about. 

“You foolish, naive little boy,” Nile mocked him cruelly. “None of it was real. Not even his death. They faked it all. Albert Bridge and the handover, swapping John for that Government-brat.” Yassen’s attention was back on Nile as he spoke, eyes fixed firmly on the discoloured face. “All of it was fake.” 

“Shut up.” Alex clenched his fists above his head, willing the chains to disappear so that he could land one right in the centre of Nile’s smug face. 

“Your father didn’t die on Albert Bridge. He and your mother snuck out of the country a year later, and you were left with a nanny because of an ear infection. Ash planted the bomb. Julia detonated it.” He grinned widely, the brightness of his smile made Alex wince, and the boy squeezed his eyes closed trying to block out Nile’s face. “Scorpia killed your parents. All these years, Alex, and you’ve been fighting for the wrong side. It’s all Yassen’s fault, you know. He brought you here. He handed you right over to us, to the people who murdered your father. I wonder if you will ever forgive him?” 

Alex finally managed to catch Yassen’s gaze. When Alex opened his eyes, those familiar blue orbs were fixed directly on his face. Yassen’s mouth was half open, his face slack and pale, and Alex could see him swallowing convulsively, struggling to speak. “Alex…?” he finally muttered, voice breaking. The truth of what Nile had said struck him deeply, like fire running through his veins, it filled him up and hurt him. Heart beating frantically, fingers tingling, and vision swimming slightly, Yassen watched Alex watch him, and had to tear his eyes away. He had caused this. He had done this to Alex. 

“It’s not his fault!” Alex hissed. “He didn’t know. Yassen didn’t know, don’t you dare blame him for anything!” 

“Hmm, you’re right, I suppose. He hadn’t known so it wouldn’t be fair to blame him for bringing you here. But for letting me do this to you? Should he have tried harder to stop me?” Those hands were on him again, and Alex tensed immediately. 

He tried to ignore the way his skin crawled as Nile touched him. “He’s tied to a fucking chair. What do you want him to do? Magic the ropes away?” 

Nile chuckled. “You’re chained to the ceiling and you’ve still managed to get a few good hits in.” Nile rubbed his chin, and Alex’s eyes narrowed on a faint bruise that he hadn’t noticed before. He didn’t even remember giving it to the other man. “He should have done more to help you, Alex. I hope he can live with himself.” 

“Shut u-ah!” Alex broke off into a cry. 

Nile’s fingers were inside him again, and he jerked forward, swinging from the chains, trying to pull away from the other man. Nile simply moved to stand behind him, forcing Alex to stand on the balls of his feet or to lean backwards, resting his weight on Nile’s chest. “Tell me you want this?” 

“Get off! Get off of me!” 

“Tell me you want this,” Nile repeated. He thrust forward, and Alex sobbed lightly as he felt the brush of the other man’s cock against his arse. “Tell me, Alex, and I’ll make it good for you.” 

“Go to hell!” he spat, taking deep breaths, gasping softly as Nile pulled his fingers out again. He waited, tense and terrified, for what was coming, trying to brace himself for the pain and the humiliation Nile would no doubt inflict upon him. He squeezed his eyes closed, not wanting to look at Yassen as he was being raped, and he waited. 

A ‘phut’ echoed through the room, the noise familiar and comforting, and still Alex waited, heart pounding through his chest. Nile gave a grunt, loud and shocked, and he pressed forward suddenly, leaning heavily on Alex. The teenager cried out, expecting an intrusion that never came. Instead, Nile slid to his knees, his face pressed to the back of Alex’s thighs and the blood from the bullet wound left a streak of vivid red down Alex’s back. 

“I believe he told you to go to hell,” someone said, his tone clipped and furious. 

Ian. It was Ian Rider, standing in the doorway, with a gun hanging limply from one hand. “Alex, are you ok?” He ran to the boy, one hand lightly rubbing the dried blood from his face, as the other started tugging at the chains, trying to untangle them from the hooks that kept them attached to the ceiling. 

Yassen was trembling in his chair, his eyes unable to stop roaming over Alex’s abused body. His face was paler than normal, from blood loss and shock and anger, and Alex honestly felt terrible, but he was willing to do a lot of things to make Yassen happy. 

“I’ve never been better,” he lied, and smiled as the corners of Yassen’s mouth twitched once in amusement. 

“He needs a hospital. As do I,” Yassen informed him stiffly, one hand finally free. He began to untie his second hand, watching avidly as Ian lifted Alex out of the chains and slowly rotated the boy’s wrists and arms, working the blood back into the stiff joints. “Assuming you aren’t just going to have me shot.” 

“I’ll take you to whatever hospital you like, I’ll make sure they ask no questions that are irrelevant to treating your injuries, and then you’ll both disappear. Deal?” It hurt Ian to offer it, knowing that it was likely Alex would jump at the chance to escape from MI6 and himself, but Alex deserved to be happy. Considering the crap couple of days the boy had lived through, what happened next would be Alex’s choice. 

Alex was taken by surprise. He hadn’t expected Ian to let him go. Ian must have known they were related, but then again, Alex had kissed him, several times, and touched him seriously inappropriately considering that they were blood related. The guy was probably freaking out just being in the same room as a naked Alex right now. The teenager snorted. He wasn’t sure to be amused or disappointed, but he decided he’d think on that at a hospital, after he was given some morphine. 

“I hurt all over,” he whined. Once Yassen was free, the man stripped Nile of his trousers and pulled them on himself. Nile’s shirt was on top of one of the crates and Yassen helped Alex into it, pulling it down to cover as much of the boy as possible, before Ian swung him into his arms, carrying him bridal style out of the warehouse. 

Once he was seated in the car, leaning against Yassen, comfortable but aching at the same time, Alex zoned out. He might have slept, but he didn’t feel refreshed when they arrived at the second hospital Ian had stopped at (Yassen refusing to get out at the first for some reason). He couldn’t remember the drive to either hospital. 

“I need drugs,” Alex mumbled, saying his thoughts out loud. “Sleep isn’t enough. I need drugs to get better. And doctors. Lots of doctors. And morphine. Or Pethidine, that’s good too.” 

“Ok, you little druggie,” Ian said, chuckling, as he helped lay Alex down on the bed a nurse had wheeled over to him. “The doctor will get you something in a minute. Go to sleep.” 

Alex felt the prick of a needle on the back of his hand, and he smiled softly as the blackness dragged him away. 

_XXX_

April 12th 2001. Russia. 

Alex woke up three days later. He was in Russia, in a house that he had never seen before. 

“Do you like it?” Yassen asked softly. He was lying beside Alex, on top of the duvet, with his head propped up on his hand. The other hand moved towards the boy, hesitantly, as if afraid that Alex would reject his touch. When Alex didn’t flinch or protest, Yassen cupped his cheek lightly and turned the boy’s face towards him. He leant forward to press their lips together briefly. “I thought you might like it. It will give you a chance to improve your Russian.” 

The television was turn on in the background, mounted on the wall opposite the bed with the volume muted. Alex’s eyes lingered on the framed photograph of the late Michael J. Roscoe as the news reporter recounted his death. He drew his eyes away, allowing them to linger instead on Yassen’s healthier looking face. 

“It has been a while since I’ve had a chance to practise,” Alex agreed lightly. 

He leant forward for another kiss. Yassen wasn’t Nile. He would never be Nile. Alex loved and trusted the elder assassin, with his heart and his life and his body. He had no reason to be afraid or skittish around Yassen. While Alex knew that what Nile had done to him would affect his life in profound ways later down the line, tomorrow or the day after or maybe in a year’s time, it would never change how he felt about his lover. “I love you.” 

“And I you, Alex. Very much.” They kissed lazily, just several brushes of their lips and gentle flicks of their tongues. “Rest more. You have much to heal from.” 

A needle pricked his arm. Alex tried to glare at Yassen before he lost consciousness, but he didn’t think he succeeded very well. The last thing he heard was Yassen amused laughter, like bells, light and free. Then he was sleeping again. 

_XXX_

April 14th 2001. 

They had argued about this several times already. Yassen didn’t think Alex was ready for it, and Alex had agreed that it was too soon after he had first tried to leave the bed without help. He had been shaky and he had tired easy, and Yassen had needed to carry the child back to bed. But when Alex was well enough to walk unescorted and unaided from the mansion, isolated in a small forest, to the nearest town and back without complications, he had insisted he couldn’t wait any longer. 

He needed to see Ian Rider. 

Alone. 

Yassen hadn’t been happy of course, but he had allowed it in the end. Like Ian, he believed that it was Alex’s choice to make. It was Alex’s future that needed to be decided upon. Neither adult could make the selection for him, and one of them knew they were going to lose him. Yassen had let Alex go, and he prayed that Alex would come back home. 

Standing outside of Ian’s house on Cheyne Walk, Alex couldn’t feel any of the determination and desire he had felt when arguing about this with Yassen. There had been a need then to sort through this part of his life, to learn about who he could have been had Ian raised him, about what his life might have been like instead. But now there was only terror. What if Ian didn’t want to know him? He had killed the man’s housekeeper? Girlfriend? Live-in friend? What if he was making a mistake, and this relationship wasn’t what he wanted. If – No, when he returned to Russia, what if Yassen was gone? 

He took a deep breath. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Alex told himself. Yassen would wait to hear his decision. He knew that the man wouldn’t just up and disappear without telling him. There was no question of being abandoned by the blond assassin; it was just a stupid idea thought up by his panicking mind. 

He had wanted to do this. He had claimed he needed to do this. Yassen would never ask, never. But Alex knew the other man wanted to know the detailed truth about John’s fake death and real death, just as Alex did. Perhaps it would be easier for the Russian to hear if the truth came from Alex’s mouth, rather than from the enemy? 

Before he could talk himself out of it again, Alex raised his hand… and knocked. 

_XXX_

April 17th 2001. Russia. 

Yassen moved on top of him, thrusting his hips lightly as Alex moaned and arched in desire. They both ignored the phone that lay ringing on the bedside locker. They were too caught up in their physical activity to care about whoever was trying to contact either one of them. Yassen came first, grunting softly before collapsing on top of his lover. With one hand he reached for the phone and pressed the answer button on the mobile. He held it up to Alex’s ear, smirking. His other hand fisted Alex’s cock faster. Yassen felt rather smug as Alex cried out in orgasm, and the person on the other end of the phone abruptly stopped talking. 

“That was very cruel of you, Yassen,” Alex teased. He panted lightly and turned to lie on his back as Yassen moved off of him. Alex held his hand out for the phone. 

“They should not have interrupted us.” He said, handing the phone to his lover. The blond lay back on the bed and tugged Alex against his side. 

“Hello?” Alex called down the phone. 

Someone on the other end cleared their throat. “Alex Rider, is that you?” 

“It is. Who is speaking?” Brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. There were only a handful of people who had this number. Close associates of theirs, people who could be trusted upon to help them out when they desperately needed it and had the money to pay for it. And Ian. 

“It’s Alan Blunt. Ian gave me your number, though it took quite a bit of persuasion. I do believe he is quite eager to see you again, Alex.” 

Alex and Yassen traded looks. Neither of them was working for Scorpia anymore. Though, strangely, and rather worryingly now that Alex thought about it because it must have been MI6 (who else could it have been?), someone had contacted Scorpia and made some sort of deal with them. Alex’s involvement with the organisation would never be known. Mrs. Rothman would be punished internally for her crazed plan rather than hunted down and brought to stand trial in the United Kingdom like Ian wanted. Nile’s body would be sent back to Italy for burial. In return, Scorpia had agreed to forget that Alex Rider and Yassen Gregorovich had ever existed. 

Personally, Alex had thought they had gotten the better deal. But now that he had Alan Blunt on the phone, Alex was starting to rethink that. Maybe Scorpia were the lucky ones? 

“What do you want?” he asked coolly. 

“I suppose you’ve been watching the news. A man known as The Gentleman murdered Michael J. Roscoe a few days ago. Then he sent the family some roses. Quite a pleasant fellow if you ignore the issue of killing innocent people. However, his son is acting rather suspiciously, and it isn’t an isolated incident. Several other young men, all sons of prominent businessmen who have all died suspiciously in the last year or so, have all been behaving quite out of character. We’re rather worried, Alex, as I suspect you can imagine.” 

“What’s this got to do with me?” Alex tensed up. Yassen’s arms tightened around him, and Alex felt himself relaxing into the elder man’s side. 

“We have a mission planned, Alex.” Mr. Blunt paused, purposely drawing out the silence. It made Alex impatient, and he leant forward hunching over the phone as he waited. Alan spoke again, “And you’re the perfect boy for the job. How soon can you get to France?” 

Alex flopped back against Yassen. He handed the phone over to the blond, throwing his arm across his face with a desperate moan. 

Why him? 

When Yassen asked the same question Alex had just thought, Mr. Blunt answered plainly, “Because he’s Alex Rider.” 

**The End**

6 – Paraphrased from: “They talk of a man betraying his country, his friends, his [sweetheart]. There must be a moral bond first. All a man can betray is his conscience.” - Joseph Conrad 1857 – 1924.  
7 – Judge Doom, the sadistic judge of Toontown District Superior Court, is from ‘Who Framed Roger Rabit’. He melted to death and it wasn’t pretty. http:// media . photobucket . com / image / judge % 20doom / scalpod / Judge_Doom . jpg 

 

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Thanks for reading. 

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On a more positive note ;) I'm back to work, and finished with exams (unless I failed any/all of them) :D


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